


capsized standing on the edge of safe

by socallmedaisy



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socallmedaisy/pseuds/socallmedaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows Sam, Brittany, Santana and Rachel in the year and a half after New Directions win at Nationals for the first time as they come in and out of each other's lives and try to find a place for themselves, even if that place isn't where they originally thought they would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> please pay attention to the pairings listed in this story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s probably not gonna help or anything, because Santana’s seat is between them like a big flashing sign of what they’ve lost, but halfway through their warm up exercises Brittany catches his eye again and the sad-lost look in her eyes looks a little bit smaller, just for a moment.

It’s not until he walks into the choir room the first day of school and sees Brittany sitting in her usual seat that it really hits him, because the seat next to her, the one that’s usually full of Santana making some kind of crack about his lips, is empty, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Brittany look so sad.

Her face looks the way Stevie’s face had looked when he’d broken his wrist playing soccer and had to do everything one handed when he’d been used to having two, like she hasn’t quite figured it out yet and she’s still working ways around this thing she suddenly doesn’t have anymore.

“Hey Britt,” he says. 

She looks confused for a moment before her eyes settle on his, and then she just kind of smiles in this way that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

He doesn’t really know what to do, and he stares at Santana’s seat for a moment before taking the one a little further along the row, the one that had been his towards the end of the last year, and then dragging it closer inches at a time.

It’s probably not gonna help or anything, because Santana’s seat is between them like a big flashing sign of what they’ve lost, but halfway through their warm up exercises Brittany catches his eye again and the sad-lost look in her eyes looks a little bit smaller, just for a moment.

+

They have math together now, and Brittany sits in the back and keeps her head low, like she’s trying to avoid anyone seeing her. Sam hates it, because in the one other class they all had together last year Brittany was always sticking her hands in the air even if she didn’t know the answers and no one but Santana had seemed to understand the things she said.

She looks like she wishes she could disappear, like one of the last Elves left in Middle-Earth. Brittany is pretty enough to be an elf even if she is slouching over her desk and scribbling notes down on her paper before squinting at their teacher like she’s trying to understand. 

Sam’s never been that good at math, and when he leans back in his seat to ask Brittany if she can help him, Brittany just shakes her head.

“I don’t understand,” she says, the most frustration in her voice he’s ever heard, and she moves her left hand across the sheet of paper like she’s trying to hide what she wrote. “None of it makes sense,” she says again, a little more deperately.

“I know,” he says, and slowly reaches over to pull her hand away.

+

They dance together in glee, and he knows he’s a poor substitute for who Brittany is missing, but she seems to forget how sad she is when she’s moving and singing background harmonies. There’s this grace in the way she moves that reminds Sam of a sword fight, like every time she spins and pushes her hands away from her body she’s fighting back against the things that try to sneak in and remind her of Santana, but she just ends up spinning, spinning, spinning, and Sam isn’t sure if she’ll ever be able to stop.

+

They both get the bus home from school now, because Santana took her car with her to Louisville, and neither of them says anything about it but they always sit together, Brittany by the window with him by the aisle, like he’s trying to protect her from the rest of the kids.

(Before she’d left he and Santana had driven out to the reservoir one summer night like two kids in some cliched high school movie and she’s begged him to look after Brittany, not because she was helpless but because Santana wouldn’t be there and that was something neither of them had had to deal with in their lives before.

“Like walking without a crutch,” Santana had said, and Sam had nodded and pulled her into a hug.

“I got too caught up in my own stuff that I forgot to stop using her as a crutch,” Santana had said into his neck, and Sam had just held her closer as he listened to her breath hitch in the back of her throat.)

+

They never mention Santana’s name, but the empty chair is still next to them in the choir room, even if Brittany has shuffled over into it so she’s sitting next to him, and the empty one is on her other side now.

They have this one conversation about how Santana had called them both to say she was settling in and getting used to a new cheerleading squad, and then they both lapse into silence, taking turns to glance at the seat and pretending they don’t see it.

Brittany isn’t on the Cheerios this year, and without the uniform as a reminder it gets easier to forget about the way they’d both looked before, even if she does sometimes turn in the hallway and go the other way when she sees girls in uniforms coming towards her, like she thinks Sam hasn’t noticed.

+

It doesn’t get any easier so he asks Artie to tutor him, because he needs at least a B in math to make up for his permanently mediocre grades in English, and when he mentions it to Brittany she shuffles on her feet for a moment before asking if she can come too.

Artie’s a surprisingly good teacher, because he kind of gets the way Brittany’s mind works sometimes and knows how to explain things in a way that makes them easy to understand, for Sam as well as Brittany, and Sam’s grades start to tick up and up, the same way Brittany’s do.

Sometime in October they both get a test back with Bs in the corner, and Sam turns behind him to high five Brittany while the teacher watches them both and murmurs a “Good work,” kind of grudgingly.

“You should call Santana and tell her,” he says, when they’re on the way to their lockers, and Brittany looks away, her feet shuffling a little more awkwardly against the linoleum.

“Yeah,” she says, only she doesn’t sound convinced and when Sam looks up at her, she says, “Santana hasn’t called in two weeks,” all in a rush like she doesn’t want him to hear it.

“What?” he says, because she’s called him, and she never mentioned anything about this, not at all.

Brittany shrugs and works her jaw for a moment before she says, “Well she’s at college and so—” she stops and shrugs again, all sharp angles in the way Brittany rarely is. “I didn’t want to bother her or whatever.”

“Dude, in what world could you bother Santana?” he says, mostly because he hates seeing that look on her face again. He tries to ignore the way she almost flinches at the sound of her name and how she just shrugs and looks away.

+

“You asshole,” he says later that night into Santana’s voicemail when she doesn’t pick up. “Call your girlfriend!” He’s going to hang up, but he takes a breath and what comes out next is, “She’s trying so hard, Santana, and you’re not helping at all. What the hell are you even doing over there that’s so important you can’t call her? You—you don’t... you don’t see her, what she’s doing. She’s doing this for you.” He takes another breath. “Asshole,” he says again, and ends the call before tossing his phone onto the bed next to him and wondering why he’s so upset.

+

Brittany sits in the bleachers doing her homework and watches him at football practice sometimes, and he always runs over before they go back to the locker room so Coach ends up yelling at him to leave his girlfriend alone and get his ass in the shower.

Brittany just laughs and reaches out to ruffle his hair as he pulls his helmet off, but it’s the first time in a long time and he wants to ask if Santana called her but he doesn’t dare because what if the answer is no?

(Santana hasn’t called him since he left the message.)

“Go on,” Brittany says with a smile, kissing him on the cheek before she gathers her books together and pulls them into her arms, and Sam watches her make her way down the steps and back towards solid ground, his fingers rubbing at his cheek absentmindedly.

+

Brittany smiles a little more easily and her grades keep picking up, until she’s pulling at least a C in everything and the teachers are looking at her like they’ve never seen her before. She even helps Sam with his English grades, telling him this and that about the books they’re reading and how all the teachers really want is for you to write how a character is sad because they’re wearing a blue shirt or whatever. 

She says it when she’s got this faded blue t-shirt on that Sam has a feeling belongs to Santana, even if he can’t quite make out the logo, and when she sees the way his eyes flick down to it she says, “No wait, though. That’s not that I meant.”

Neither of them mention it again, and the next time he sees her she has this sunny yellow shirt on and smiles at him in this way that looks wrong somehow while they dance together in glee.

+

Thanksgiving night, Brittany’s crying on his doorstep and Sam doesn’t know what to do.

“Brittany,” he says stupidly, and then she’s in his arms and holding on to him like she never wants to let go. Her face is pressed into his neck in exactly the same place Santana’s had been before she left, and Sam wonders if Brittany knows that or if it’s even important at all.

Mostly he just thinks how Brittany feels so small in his arms, even though she’s not small at all.

“She said she was coming home for Thanksgiving but she didn’t,” Brittany sobs against him. “She said she was coming home and I had to eat the turkey and sit at the table and she wasn’t there.”

“Maybe she had to stay at school,” he says, one arm around her waist and the other on the back of her head, rubbing his thumb against her scalp.

“She said she was coming home,” Brittany mumbles into his t-shirt, and then takes a shaky breath, “But I don’t think this is her home anymore.”

And Sam doesn’t know what to say to that.

+

Monday morning, Brittany is waiting for him by his locker, and they both look at each other awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say. Her shirt is blue, and Sam gets it when she tugs at the bottom of it a little and then shrugs, and she waits for Sam to get his things out of his locker and then slides her hand into the crook of his arm as they walk, her head leaning against his shoulder.

+

Brittany’s silent until just before glee and then she says, “I’m passing all my classes,” in this quiet little voice.

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, because it really truly is, and Brittany nods a little, smiling.

“I haven’t told— Well, I just wanted you to know,” she says, and Sam wraps his arm around her and pulls her against his side.

“Maybe you can help me with my history assignment,” he says, and Brittany grins up at him shyly.

“Maybe,” she says.

+

Santana’s stopped calling him.

He tries her a couple of times, but there’s never any answer, just a synthesised voice telling him to leave a message at the beep. He wishes he could just ask Brittany, but she’s doing everything she can to avoid talking about it, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to know.

They get swept up in the rush of Sectionals and walking the new kids through something they’ve done so many times before, and he thinks it’s Brittany’s choreography in the group number that really does it for them this year, maybe even more than Artie and Tina’s duet, which is awesome too.

They have a lot of fun, but Sam thinks he’s the only one who picks up on the way Brittany’s hand keeps twitching like it’s missing holding onto someone in particular, and how even when she hugs Sam on stage when they’re announced as the winners, it feels like she’s looking over his shoulder for someone else.

+

The first time they have glee rehearsal after Sectionals, Brittany takes the chair that used to be Santana’s and puts it back over in the stacks of spares against the wall, and when she comes back she slides her chair across the floor as close as she can to Sam until their legs are touching and he can feel the warmth of her at his side.

He rests his arm on the back of her chair while they do their warm-ups and waits for her to say something about it only she never does, and the chair stays there in the stacks, forgotten.

+

He loves Santana, he really does, but this thing she’s doing, of not calling him, and maybe not calling Brittany—although he thinks that if she wasn’t at all Brittany would have told him—is so far outside of okay that he can’t even deal with it.

He wonders what happened to her since she left, because there must be some reason that she hasn’t called, and he hates the thought of her out there alone, dealing with God knows what. He doesn’t say anything to Brittany about it, because he doesn’t want to put his foot in it and mess things up anymore than they already are, but he keeps trying to call her and getting nothing but the beep of her answer phone.

He doesn’t know what to say and in the end he just sighs, “Santana. Please call me,” and then hangs up, staring at the phone in his hand and wishing he knew what was wrong.

\+ 

The weather gets colder bit by bit and it’s not long until the holidays when Brittany starts to get antsy again. She taps her feet together under the table all through math, and then dances weirdly in glee, like every movement is too big. She kind of looks like she keeps falling and just catching herself, and when Sam goes over to her she throws her arms around his neck and makes them both spin around, until Sam’s dizzy and the whole room is spinning around him.

“She’ll come home,” Sam says later, when they’re on the bus, and Brittany starts like he poked her.

“She texted me and said she was,” Brittany says, only she doesn’t sound as happy about that as she should be.

Sam kind of gets it, and he reaches across slowly to cover her hand with his, until Brittany flips her palm over and slides her fingers into the gaps between his with a smile. They stay like that until his stop, and then Brittany gives a final squeeze and lets go and watches him all the way down the aisle.

+

Three days before school lets out, Santana calls him at 3am, and the only thing he can think to say, once he’s processed the way her voice is hoarse and slurred at the end, is, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sam,” she says, half a sob in her voice, and he’s not even sure that she heard him. “Sam, I can’t do this. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t— I want to—”

“Santana?” he says because she sounds like she’s getting further away, and then he’s whisper-shouting as loud as he can into the phone without waking everybody in the house. “Santana, are you okay? Santana?”

“I’m coming home, Sam. I’m just— I’m coming home. Tell Brittany—”

Only he doesn’t hear what it is he should tell her because the line goes dead, and he lies awake the rest of the night staring at his phone, hoping she’ll call again.

+

The next day, he doesn’t say anything to Brittany and spends most of the morning avoiding her, until she corners him at lunch and asks what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, because he hates being this person in the middle and doesn’t want to betray either of their trust, and she just looks at him sadly for a moment.

“Okay, because I don’t want you to leave too,” she says quietly and Sam feels this pang in his chest, like it gets tight for a moment before he can breathe again.

+

It snows the last day of school and so they walk home together in their boots and scarves, Brittany dancing over the snow somehow while he feels like he’s wading through it. Brittany takes his hand to try and tug him along only it doesn’t help, and when she starts laughing he bends over to scoop up a handful of snow and throw it at her, watching as she dodges easily.

She grins and he reaches for more snow, so they end up having a snowball fight all the way to Brittany’s house, both of them freezing and dripping wet, until they get there and Santana is standing on Brittany’s porch, hugging herself and staring at them.

Brittany stops dead and Sam almost walks into her, Brittany reaching for his hand to steady him as he drops the snow he’s holding and they all stare at each other, their breath steaming in the cold air. Santana takes one hesitant step down the porch steps and then another, until she’s standing next to Sam and looking at Brittany too, waiting to see what will happen.

“Hi,” Santana says, and Brittany stares.

“I’m home,” Santana says, and Brittany shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe it.

“You said you weren’t coming home until home next week,” Brittany says, “And you said you’d be home at Thanksgiving and you—you weren’t.” She takes a half a step closer and Sam just wants to leave, but Santana’s fingers latch onto the sleeve of his jacket like she’s searching for strength and he can’t move.

“I know,” Santana says, and she laughs a little, shaking her head as she glances at Sam and then back at Brittany. “Can we go inside?”

“No,” Brittany says, folding her arms across her chest. “You don’t get to just show up here and—”

“Brittany,” Santana says in the quietest voice he’s ever heard her use. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just, I’m just sorry.”

Brittany sucks in a breath like she can’t stand to hear it and just stares some more, and Sam really, really needs to leave.

“I should go,” he says, and when he takes a step, Brittany manages to slip past them and head towards the porch.

“So should you, Santana,” Brittany says, and then she’s gone and Santana is deflating next to him in the snow, and this is just not at all how he imagined this would go.

+

Santana isn’t going back to college. 

She tells him about how it really wasn’t the right place for her to be on the walk to her house, how cheerleading was fine in high school but now it feels like a chore, how the classes are interesting enough but nothing she really likes, and that she still doesn’t have a plan but there’s no version of her future with the University of Louisville in it anymore.

“I didn’t call because I didn’t want it to be about you or Brittany or just missing home.” She sneaks a glance at him. “Really, it’s not about Brittany,” she says off his look, but that’s never really true with her. “I didn’t want you to talk me into leaving and I didn’t want you to talk me out of it either. You or Britt. I just needed to figure shit out,” she exhales noisily. “Britt will understand that, right?”

He shrugs, because he guesses she will but he doesn’t want to be in the middle of this again, and after a second she goes on.

“It was just... not what I wanted, Sammy.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says softly, and she just looks away from him and shrugs.

After a moment her hand creeps onto his arm at the elbow, her fingers cold through his jacket, and he just lets her, giving her the time she needs.

They’re silent the rest of the way but in that not really uncomfortable way, and when they get to her house and come to a stop, Santana just squints up at him for a minute while he takes in the changes in her, how college has made her seem smaller instead of bigger, like she was back in junior year of high school instead of moving forward the way she was supposed to. 

“Did your lips get even bigger while I was away?” she says eventually, “Like, have you been watering them or something? Jesus, Sam, it looks like—”

Only he doesn’t get to hear what it looks like because he pulls her into a hug, her face pressed into his chest, and she starts to laugh before she can finish.

+

Sam doesn’t hear from either of them for three days, which is sort of disconcerting, and he wonders what they’re doing and if they’ve worked it out yet or not. He can’t imagine them fighting, because he doesn’t think he’s ever truly seen them fight—even during that whole Artie thing, they’d really just sort of been sulking at each other while Santana stared at Brittany in the choir room and thought no one noticed—and he wonders if they’re just sitting at home in their bedrooms sulking at the walls where no one can see them.

He’d like to say it’s peaceful but really it just freaks him out, and he’s glad when his phone finally beeps with a message from Santana while he’s rewatching Star Wars for the three hundredth time.

The original trilogy, obviously. 

how can i apologize if she won’t listen?  
(11.34am)  
i said sorry and tried to explain  
(11.36m)  
trouty? little help here  
(11.45am)  
\---

And he’s just trying to work out what to say, sneaking glances up at where Luke is piloting an X-wing towards the Death Star, when Brittany texts him as well, and even when they’re not talking to each other the fact that they still manage to do everything together kind of freaks him out.

im still mad at santana  
but that’s okay rite?  
(11.56am)  
maybe i should call her?  
(11.58am)  
sam???  
(12.04pm)  
\---

The thing is, he doesn’t want to get in the middle of this because it’s really not his place and it makes him feel weird in this way he doesn’t understand, but they keep trying to drag him into it, like he has some super secret relationship knowledge that he’s not aware of.

If he had, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be the one sitting alone here right now.

For no reason at all he thinks of the way Brittany had looked when they were fighting in the snow and then the way she’s looked when she saw Santana on her porch, and he kind of wants to tell Santana that she really fucked this up this time, but he just tosses his phone onto the desk and tries to ignore it buzzing, concentrating on Luke making the shot and blowing the Death Star up while Vader spins away.

+

He doesn’t text them back even though they keep sending him messages, but then Santana texts him just after midnight to ask if he thinks going over to Brittany’s and holding a boombox over her head playing Landslide would be a good idea and his fingers start tapping against the screen before he realises what he’s doing.

ur an idiot  
(00.24am)

He’s just going to throw his phone back onto the bedside table when it buzzes in his hand again.

fuck u, no im not  
(00.25am)  
\---

He rolls his eyes and starts to send back a reply before he sighs out in frustration and deletes it instead. He stares at the phone for a moment longer before he hits the power button and waits for it to shut down, and then he drops it on the bedside table and rolls onto his side, pointedly ignoring it. He thought nothing could be worse than only hearing Brittany’s side of the story for the last few months, but this is, because now he hears bits from both of them but still isn’t getting the whole picture, like those scrambled up puzzles where you have to slide the bits of a picture into place, except nothing will slide at all.

+

He wakes up to a message from Brittany asking him what he’s doing because she told Santana she was busy and couldn’t see her and now she needs an actual alibi that isn’t sitting in her room staring at the walls, and really, he’s had just about as much of this as he can stand.

In English they’d been reading Romeo and Juliet, and he remembers how Brittany had told him it was stupid because if people just spoke to each other none of the awful things would have happened and Claire Danes wouldn’t have had to shoot herself at the end.

(“What a waste,” Sam had agreed, throwing the book away, and Brittany had just nodded at him in her serious way and said, “Right?”

“So let’s promise to always talk to each other, okay?” she’d said, still serious, and he’d just laughed and rolled his eyes.)

i’ll meet u at the lima baen  
in a hour x  
(10.25am)  
\---

coffee @ 11.30??  
operation: gt britt bakc  
(10.26am)  
\---

He sends the first message to Brittany and the second to Santana and then grins to himself in the mirror like some cheesy super villain, Luke making his one impossible shot, when they both text back to say they’ll see him there.

Maybe all Claire and Leo needed was someone telling them to talk to each other and he and Brittany wouldn’t have had to sit through the whole movie trying to make sense of all the weird stuff the characters were saying and doing, because even with the subtitles on he had no idea why biting your thumb at someone was an insult, and he didn’t think Brittany did either.

+

He’s sipping at a black coffee when Brittany shows up, and he waves her over and offers her a smile. “Caramel latte?” he says, because he knows what she drinks and she nods and takes the seat opposite him while he goes to get it.

He orders her drink and another black coffee—it’s not for him—and sure enough by the time he gets back to the table, Santana has just come through the door, her eyes fixed on Brittany and nothing else.

“Sit down,” he says, pushing their drinks in front of them before either of them can say anything, and he’s surprised when Santana does. Brittany scoots her chair away a little, like Santana has cooties or something, and he has to work hard to hide his smile..

“‘I’m not getting into the middle of this,” he starts off, even though he kind of is. He turns to Santana, “You’re an idiot,” he says, and pushes on when she opens her mouth to interrupt. “And you knew she was an idiot when you agreed to this whole thing,” he says, and thinks he sees Brittany’s lips quirk into the faintest ghost of a smile. “So just talk to each other. Work it out. Okay? No taking potions or shooting each other in the head.”

“Um,” Santana says, but Brittany actually laughs as she looks up at him.

“Romeo and Juliet,” she says softly, and Santana’s eyes snap round to stare at her.

They stare at each other for what seems like forever, even though it’s not longer than a couple of seconds, and then Brittany drags her chair a little closer to Santana again and shrugs, her eyes fixed on the table. Santana breathes out shakily, settling into her seat more comfortably than she was before, and Sam thinks she looks bigger again, like Brittany just gave her a mushroom power-up.

Sam reaches for his cup without another word and heads towards the door, and he knows he made the shot and hit the exhaust port when he looks back through the window and sees them leaning closer to each other, Santana playing with the very tips of Brittany’s fingers on the table and looking at Brittany earnestly while she speaks, Brittany just starting to smile back as she reaches to cover Santana’s hand with hers.


	2. Brittany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their rhythms are kind of off now, like she’s dancing with someone who doesn’t know all the steps, and she doesn’t understand how four months apart could make them so out of sync.

It’s weird at first, having Santana back. 

It’s like they’ve stepped into some sort of time machine and gone back to the year before, only it’s kind of wrong somehow in a way she doesn’t understand. Their rhythms are kind of off now, like she’s dancing with someone who doesn’t know all the steps, and she doesn’t understand how four months apart could make them so out of sync.

A week before Christmas, when Santana’s finished explaining to her parents why she isn’t going back to Louisville, she comes over and spends the night, and they keep shifting against each other restlessly while they watch a movie, taking it in turns to murmur apologies.

“Sorry,” Santana says for the fourth time, when she tucks her feet up under herself and accidentally nudges her.

“That’s okay, it didn’t—” she stops and exhales noisily. “Just come here, okay?” She holds her arms out and Santana glances at her before she slides closer and tucks herself against her side.

Santana holds herself kind of awkwardly against her for a moment, and it’s not until she starts to rub her fingers against Santana’s arm that she relaxes, her whole body unspooling against her. 

“Sorry,” Santana whispers. 

“That’s okay,” Brittany replies, only this time she’s not entirely sure what Santana’s apologising for.

+

In the morning, they wake up wrapped around each other, Santana pressed against her back, warm and soft and familiar, even though she’s wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt against the cold.

Her whole body is curved into Santana, like a flower seeking the heat, and when she turns in the circle of Santana’s arms to look at her, face soft in sleep, she feels like the awkwardness has all drifted away.

“Hi,” Santana murmurs, when she blinks and stirs against her.

“Hey,” she whispers back, and then Santana leans forward to press a kiss to her lips and Brittany thinks how maybe this isn’t so different after all.

+

They babysit for Ashley the same way they always did when her parents are at work, only when they come downstairs, Santana’s fingers laced through hers, Ashley looks up fom her bowl of cereal, thoroughly unimpressed, and says, “Is Sam coming over?”

“Sam helped me babysit when you were away,” Brittany explains, as Santana gapes a little.

“I’m hurt, Ash,” Santana says, and she says it in a way that makes it true instead of with her usual snap. 

+

Sam calls later that day when they’re snuggled up on her bed watching a movie on the computer. Santana tries to pull the phone out of her hand when she answers and Brittany frowns and pushes her away, leaning forward to sit up and leave Santana lying behind her, “Hey Sam, what’s up?”

“Trouty, stop interrupting snuggle time,” Santana says loudly, and Brittany knows it’s supposed to be a joke but it doesn’t feel very funny so she just ignores her and presses the phone a little closer to her ear.

“So Rachel Berry is back in town,” Sam says, “And since most everyone is home for the holidays, she’s thinking about having a party tomorrow night for all members of the New Directions, past and present. Do you wanna come?”

Brittany nods before she remembers he can’t see her and then says, “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

“Oh,” Sam says, as though he’s just remembering, “And bring Santana.”

“Yeah,” Brittany says again, “Obviously.” Only it kind of wasn’t obvious at all.

+

They can hear the music coming from Rachel’s house from the end of the street, and when they knock on the door, Sam answers and waves them inside with a grin. 

“You’re drunk,” she says, as she pulls him in for a quick hug, and he just grins wider.

“Puck made me a drink,” he says, and Santana laughs behind her, pushing past them to go and find one for herself.

Brittany rolls her eyes and Sam just continues to grin, until she’s starting to laugh a little too.

“Come on,” Sam says, and then he’s leading her deeper into the house and towards the rest of the guests.

It looks like the only person that’s missing is Finn, and she weaves through the crowd hugging people—Mike picks her up and swings her round while Tina and Mercedes roll their eyes at them both—before she spots Quinn, looking like college agrees with her in about twenty different ways as she smiles at her from the corner. She grins back and crosses the room quickly to wrap her arms around Quinn and lift her off her feet, spinning them around on the spot as Quinn laughs into her hair.

“I missed you too, Britt,” Quinn says when she sets her down, and Brittany just grins and asks her to tell her all about Yale.

+

“Where’s Santana?” Quinn asks later, and Brittany shifts on the spot for a minute before offering her a little half shrug.

“Around,” she says eventually and Quinn looks like she wants to say something before she settles for taking a sip of her drink instead.

+

She finds Santana talking to Rachel, nursing the drink in her plastic cup and trying not to look at her when she says, “I think maybe I could— I wanna do what you do.”

She doesn’t mean to, but she comes to a stop a couple of steps away, like her feet just won’t listen to her anymore and keep going, and she sips at the drink in her hand and feels the rum burn all the way down her throat.

“NYADA?” Rachel says, sounding confused.

“No, but like, theatre maybe,” she shrugs a little and Brittany knows it’s because she’s trying to act casual, like this isn’t something she’s thought about a lot. “I had a lot of fun doing _West Side Story_ last year,” she admits after a moment, and Brittany watches a smile flash across Rachel’s face.

“You were really very good, Santana,” Rachel says, and Santana squirms a little, uncomfortable.

“Whatever,” she says, but Brittany can see that she’s pleased, and she remembers telling Santana the same thing back when they were actually performing, pressed together behind a curtain and waiting for their cue.

“Come to New York!” Rachel says, leaning forward a little and grinning, and Brittany wonders if it’s the rum in the plastic cup Rachel’s drinking from talking when she says, “I can always put you up for a little while. It’s really the only place to be for musical theatre.”

“I— well, um, thanks but—” Santana stammers, and Rachel just waves her words away and shakes her head.

“It’s an open ended offer,” she says, and then Brittany turns and grabs Sam, not wanting to see the hopeful look on Santana’s face anymore.

“Dance with me?” Brittany says to Sam and he just grins and takes her hand, pulling her towards where Mike and Tina are doing some kind of crazy swing dance on the makeshift dance floor.

\+ 

Santana finds them there a little later, and taps Sam on the shoulder with a grin. “May I cut in?”

It’s the dorky Santana from before she left for college, and Brittany just laughs and reaches for her hand as Sam pretends to sigh. “I know where I’m not wanted,” he says and Brittany reaches up to ruffle his hair. 

“You’re always wanted,” she tells him, and watches him smile for just a second before he glances at Santana and stops himself, though she isn’t paying attention.

“Yeah, thanks for looking after my girl while I was away,” Santana says, and then tries to pull her closer, frowning when Brittany stays where she is.

“Looking after me?” she says, and she doesn’t know why it bugs her but it does, and Santana’s mouth opens a couple of times even though no words come out.

“She just kind of took care of herself,” Sam says, his eyes flicking betweent hem as he rubs at the back of his head uncomfortably. 

“I just mean—” Santana says, and then stops again. “I’m glad you guys had each other while I was gone,” she tries, her voice turning it into a question, and Brittany nods.

“Yeah,” she says, trying to swallow her annoyance. “Okay.”

+

They don’t say anything else until they’re on their way home and Santana tries to reach for her hand, Brittany shrugging away from her.

“Britt,” Santana says, almost begging, and Brittany sighs out into the cold air, watching it steam in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“So when are you going to New York with Rachel?” Brittany blurts out, and if she’s starting she might as well continue. “Because I thought you said you didn’t know what you wanted to do, but it sounded like you had a pretty good idea.”

“Brittany—” Santana says. They’ve come to a stop now, facing each other under the glow of a street light, their feet shifting against the slushy snow still left on the sidewalk. “I’m not—”

“Because you only just got back,” Brittany says, stumbling a little over the words as her breath hitches in her throat. “You only just got back and you already can’t wait to leave.” She presses a hand to her mouth and Santana takes a step forward, reaching to pull it away and lace their fingers together.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Santana says in this low voice, her other hand finding Brittany’s cheek, her fingertips cold against her skin. “I’m not, okay?”

And when she stands on her tiptoes and leans forward to kiss her, Brittany lets her, her arms snaking around her waist to pull her close, as Santana cups her face in her hands and gasps into her mouth.

+

“I love you,” Santana whispers later, trying to find her eyes as she hovers over her in the dark.

“I love you too,” Brittany murmurs back, arching up underneath her as Santana’s hand drifts down between them and starts to move. 

“I missed you so much,” Santana says against her neck, and Brittany just wraps her arms more tightly around her back before she presses their lips together again.

+

They give Sam a ride when he goes to catch the bus back to his folks for Christmas, his head in his hands all the way to the station as he mumbles something about never drinking again.

Brittany helps him out with his bags as Santana leads them towards his bus, rolling her eyes over her shoulder at him as he struggles to sit up.

“Don’t throw up on the bus,” Brittany whispers into his ear, just before she kisses his cheek. “Call me when you get there, okay?”

“Got it,” Sam mumbles, giving her a squeeze as he glances at Santana over her shoulder. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Take care, Trouty,” Santana says, and then she reaches to take Brittany’s hand quickly when she steps back from him, lacing their fingers together tightly as Sam gets on the bus. 

Brittany glances down at their hands, and then up at Santana, watching Sam carefully, and chews at her bottom lip as the bus rumbles to life and starts to reverse.

+

Christmas morning she wakes up to Ashley shouting about presents as she runs downstairs and her phone buzzing against her nightstand because Santana is calling her.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Santana says when she answers, and Brittany can hear the smile in her voice.

“Hey,” Brittany says, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawns. “Merry Christmas.”

“I’ll bring your present over later,” Santana says, which is something they do every year, and Brittany grins.

“Is it you in that red dress again?” she asks, remembering another Christmas night.

“Maybe,” Santana laughs, and then Brittany’s mom is knocking on her door and asking if she wants to open her presents.

+

When Santana comes over later, she’s wearing the red dress, and even though she has a present as well, Brittany still reaches for the zipper at Santana’s back first, as Santana smirks against her lips.

+

Rachel has another party on New Year’s Eve because her dads have gone out of town to spend the night with some friends, and almost everyone turns up, except for Sam who’s still in Kentucky with his family and Mercedes, who had to fly back to LA two days earlier so she could work. 

It’s nice to spend an evening with (almost) everyone while they’re still here, and she spends most of the time sandwiched between Quinn and Mike on a couch, Tina sitting at Rachel’s piano picking out tunes that they take turns singing along to.

Santana sits on Quinn’s other side and joins in, going to fetch them drinks when they need them, and it’s only when she takes forever to come back from the bathroom that Brittany bothers to look for her and sees her talking to Rachel again, leaning against the wall by the kitchen.

She swallows the feeling of annoyance and watches Rachel reache to put her hand on Santana’s arm, and say something that Brittany is sure is overly-earnest, before Santana nods to whatever it is before she raises the drinks in her hand nods back towards Brittany and the others by the piano.

Brittany doesn’t say anything about it when Santana offers her her drink just clicks their glasses together with a tight-lipped smile and starts to join in with the chorus of the song Tina is playing on the piano.

+

At midnight, she kisses Santana sloppily, and then turns to kiss a very surprised Quinn more chastely on the lips as well, watching her blush deeply as Santana gapes at them. 

“Happy New Year,” she says, and there’s a sort of challenge in it that she didn’t really intend.

Santana stares at her oddly for a minute before she starts to laugh, and then Quinn laughs a little too, only it sounds more like she’s relieved than that she finds it funny.

It’s only later, once they’re starting to head home, that she wonders what Sam is doing tonight and if he found someone to kiss at midnight too. 

+

She’d ignored most of her homework for the holidays, falling back into bad habits from the year before, but when she tells Santana about it she just says she’ll be real quiet while she studies and then settles herself on the bed with a magazine before she can protest.

She sits at her desk and reaches for her math book, flipping until she finds the right pages and the problems she’s supposed to be solving. She works her way through them steadily, forgetting Santana’s even there until she pads over to stand behind her and look down at what she’s doing.

“That one’s wrong,” she says after a moment, tapping her finger against the page, and Brittany squints at it, annoyed at how sure Santana sounds.

“No, cuz I checked it three times,” she says, and she knows it’s right because she’d gotten a different answer the first time and had to start all over again.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s wrong,” Santana says again, and then looks at her with a shrug. 

“It’s right,” Brittany insists, waving her pencil over it, “See, the first time I forgot to multiply the 6 by the—”

“I was just trying to help,” Santana says, holding her hands up to cut her off. “I used to get good grades in math.”

Brittany just glares up at her, and she only realises how she must look when Santana takes a step back at the look on her face. “I’m not stupid,” she says, and Santana’s mouth drops open.

“I know,” she says immediately, “I just thought I could help because you—”

“I’m getting good grades this year,” Brittany says, cutting her off. “I’ve been getting Bs and Cs and I’m passing everything, which you’d know if you’d asked.”

“Britt,” Santana says in surprise, but she just keeps going, needing to say it all now she’s started, the words tripping off her tongue quickly.

“I’ve been working really hard, and getting all my grades up and I’m going to graduate, but you never even asked me about it. Because I’m just your dumb girlfriend you left behind when you left,” she’s breathing hard and Santana looks like she’s slapped her, her arms wrapped around her middle like she’s trying to protect herself from the words.

“Brittany, I’m sorry,” Santana says in this quiet voice, “I didn’t mean to— I mean, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call me?” 

Brittany just shakes her head, huffing out a breath of air. “You stopped calling me! I thought you were over there in Louisville having the time of your life and forgetting all about me!”

“How could I ever forget about you?” Santana says, her voice cracking over the words, and now she’s getting loud too, her tone of voice matching Brittany’s. “Don’t you know how much it sucked because you weren’t there?”

“No, because you never called! And I was stuck in high school because I didn’t fucking graduate,” she slumps down in her seat, exhausted.

“But you’re going to graduate this year, and I’ll just wait for you, and then—”

“I don’t want you to wait for me! You shouldn’t have to wait for me, just because I was too stupid to graduate with everyone else,” she can feel tears, angry and hot, in the corners of her eyes.

“Britt, it’s no big deal,” Santana tries to say, but the thing is it is, because Santana went off to Louisville and she’s supposed to be at college or doing what she wants to, not waiting around Lima for her.

“Can you just— can you just go? I need to finish my homework,” she says, and Santana takes a step away from her, hugging herself tighter. 

“You want me to go?” she says, voice tiny and Brittany rubs at her eyes as she glances back down at her math problems.

She nods, and then Santana’s taking three steps behind her and pulling the door open, and she hears her footsteps all the way down the stairs. 

“Shit,” she mumbles to herself, and throws her pencil down on her book, staring at the numbers and wishing the problems would solve themselves.

+

She borrows her mom’s car and goes to pick Sam up when he comes back, and she sits on a bench to wait for his bus to come in, bundled up against the cold. His bus is late, so she stamps her feet and tucks her hands between her knees to keep warm.

She’s far too happy to see him when he steps off the bus, and he drops his bags and opens his arms up so she can fall into them without even missing a step.

“Hey,” she says, and she nestles into him, savouring his warmth. 

“Where’s Santana?” he asks as he peers over her shoulder, and she makes a face, falling into step beside him as they head for the parking lot.

“We had a fight,” she says, and he blinks at her for a moment.

“When?” he asks, as they get to the car and he tosses his bags into the back seat.

“Three days ago,” Brittany pushes the key into the ignition, and watches his mouth fall open.

“And you’re here with me?” he says, and she’s not sure if she imagines it but there’s this weird note in his voice, almost like he’s pleased.

“I just needed some time to think about stuff,” she says as she pulls out into traffic.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, his voice gentle, and she just twists her hands around the wheel.

“Yeah,” she says, “I think so.”

+

The day before school starts, she calls Santana and even though Santana’s kind of short with her on the phone she sounds relieved too.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I shouldn’t have—”

“Me too,” Santana says quickly, over the top of her, “I know,” and then they’re both silent for a minute listening to the other breathe.

“Don’t you think things are different now?” Brittany says eventually, and then holds her breath waiting for Santana to reply. “Like maybe we’re different now?”

“I love you,” Santana says earnestly, “That hasn’t changed,” but it has, somehow.

+

Santana’s waiting for her in the parking lot after the first day back at school, leaning up against her car and eyeing the other cheerleaders sceptically, like she can’t believe that’s who Coach let on the squad this year since they were both gone.

“Hey,” Santana says, when she sees Brittany coming, Sam at her side, and kicks back off her car, taking a step towards them.

“Do you want a ride home? Or we could go somewhere? Or do something?” she shifts nervously on the spot, her eyes flicking between them uneasily.

“I have homework,” Brittany says, but then she takes a step forward when Sam gives her a little nudge. “But you could give me a ride home, if you wanted,” she shrugs like it would be no big deal for her to say no, but then Santana is nodding quickly and offering her her hand while Sam heads for the bus and all she can do is reach for the passenger door.

+

Santana pulls into her drive and kills the engine, and she doesn’t know who moves first but then they’re clinging to each other across the console and kissing sloppily, openmouthed and wet, like even this is something they’re out of practice at. She doesn’t think, just kisses Santana back, her hand weaving into her hair as Santana’s hand presses at the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

They’re still there when Ashley comes home and bangs on the window, both of them in the passenger seat now, Santana pretty much in Brittany’s lap with her hand creeping underneath her shirt, and tells them to get a room.

+

The weather gets warmer and every day Santana waits for her after school, and she’s pretty sure this should be getting easier or more familiar by now, only it still feels like they’re out of sync, dancing to music the other one can’t hear.

“It’s like Bizarro World,” Sam says, when she tries to explain it, but she has no idea what that is, even though Sam tries to tell her.

+

Santana comes to glee with them one week in February, going over to talk to Mr Schue while she and Sam both take their seats at the back. She high fives Artie when she goes past, and says something to Tina, and then she’s standing in front of them with her hands on her hips, looking at Sam. 

“You’re in my seat,” she says, and Sam jumps to his feet quickly, refusing to meet Santana’s eyes as he goes to fetch another chair.

“Your chair’s in the stack over there,” Brittany says when Sam comes back and puts the chair he’s carrying next to Tina on the row in front, glancing back over his shoulder just once before he turns back to the front. “That chair was Sam’s,” and Santana looks at her oddly, something like sadness lurking behind her eyes, as they start their vocal warm-ups.

+

Regionals isn’t that far away, and she gets busier and busier, making sure she balances all her homework with the extra glee rehearsals and choreography sessions she, Artie, Tina and Sam hold in Artie’s basement to make sure all their routines are perfect.

Santana comes to watch sometimes, filling in the harmonies when they practice some of the dance steps, and offering her opinion when they ask for it. Everyone else is glad to have her there, and it makes her feel like she takes her for granted, like she can’t see how awesome Santana is just because she’s caught up on the things that happened while she was away.

She crosses the room and pulls her into the dance steps, but Santana’s a couple of beats off since she doesn’t know them as well, and it just reminds her again of how everything has changed, and she lets go with this laugh that kind of gets stuck in the back of her throat.

+

She gets an A in math, and Sam hugs her so tightly that she thinks she might never breathe again. “You’re awesome, Britt,” he says when she’s pressed against his chest, and she just laughs against his shoulder and pulls him back when he tries to let go.

+

Three days before Regionals, she and Santana are lying on her bed, their heads on the same pillow and their legs tangled together when Santana says, “I can’t wait until you graduate so we can finally get out of here,” and everything kind of blurs in front of her eyes, like she’s got double vision all of a sudden, and she blinks to try and make it go away.

“Get out of here?” Brittany echoes, and she always knew that Santana’s dreams were too big for Lima, but she’s not entirely sure if hers are anymore.

“Right,” Santana says, meeting her eyes, and Brittny can hear the excitement in her voice. “I still have that money my mom gave me, so we could rent a place and—”

“But I don’t know what I want to do after graduation,” Brittany says quietly, and it’s the first time she’s said it, but she knows that it’s true.

Santana shifts a little next to her and then she’s rolling onto her back and sitting up, drawing her knees up to her chest. “But I though we were going to—”

“I don’t— I’m not sure if _we_ —” she stops, frustrated, and pushes herself up too. “What do _you_ want to do, Santana?” Santana stares down at her knees and shrugs, but Brittany’s known the answer since Rachel’s party three months ago. “Do you want to go to New York?”

The room is so silent she can hear both of them breathing, and then Santana nods, just once, and whispers, “Yes.”

She seems to get smaller, leaning forward until her forehead is resting on her knees, and Brittany shuffles forward to wrap an arm around her and rest her forehead against her shoulder. 

They stay there for a long moment, just feeling each other breathe, before Santana turns her head and says, “But I don’t know if I can go without you,” and Brittany doesn’t know what to say to that at all.

+

They win at Regionals, and even though she almost stumbles when she finds Santana watching her in the audience she manages to catch herself and pull off all the chorerography they agreed on, dancing with Sam and then dancing alone, while the others sway and dance behind her. 

Sam offers her a high five, and she hugs Tina tightly, and when they come off the stage, Santana is at the side of he stage waiting for her, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Can I give you a ride back to Lima?” she says and Brittany nods before she can second guess herself, telling Sam that she’ll see him later.

+

They’re silent for longer than they should be, and then Santana takes a breath and says, “I want to go to New York.”

“I know,” Brittany replies, shifting in her seat to look over at her. “That’s okay. I think maybe— I think I should just stay here. I should just stay and you can go.”

Santana exhales noisily in the seat next to her, pressing her foot a little harder against the pedal as they speed back towards Lima. “Long distance is hard, Britt. I know I screwed up at Louisville, but even if—”

“No, Santana,” she says and she feels everything kind of slow down, like it isn’t quite real when she says, “I mean, we should break up and you can go to New York.”

The silence stretches as they hit the Lima city limits, Santana turning towards Brittany’s house without asking. They’re almost there when she speaks again, and Brittany looks over at her, at her hands twisting around the wheel.

“You think we should break up?” Santana whispers, and the silence in the car is suddenly deafening, in that stupid way it only ever is in books.

Santana’s face is as pale as she’s ever seen it, her breathing kind of ragged as she glances into the passenger seat. They’re almost at her house, but she knows she can’t wait to say what she has to otherwise she’ll lose her nerve.

“I think maybe, since Christmas, we’ve just been, it just hasn’t been working,” Brittany mumbles, hating the way Santana’s breath is catching in her throat, and she feels the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “I think that maybe we’ve been out of each other’s lives for a while.”

“No,” Santana says, shaking her head quickly. They’re at Brittany’s house now, and Santana pulls into the drive and kills the engine, turning in her seat to face Brittany and reach for her hands, “No, I’ve been here. We’ve both been here and I know it’s been hard but Britt, I love you. Don’t you love me?” 

“Of course I do,” Brittany says urgently, “It’s not even about that. It’s just... you know when you dance with someone who’s off the beat?”

Santana wipes her hands against her eyes and shakes her head and Brittany sniffs, feeling a tear trickle down her own cheek. She takes a breath and changes track, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Sometimes if you love a person you let them go and be the best person they can be, even if that person isn’t with you anymore,” she says, gripping Santana’s hands in hers and watching her blink her eyes against the tears. “I love you, Santana. I love you so much, but you have to go to New York.”

“I don’t have to,” Santana says, sort of desperately, “I can stay here. I can stay and we’ll work something else out.”

“If you stay here you’ll end up hating me, and that would be worse than if you left. Please, Santana. _Please_ ,” only she doesn’t know what she’s asking for anymore, until Santana’s leaning forward to wrap her arms around her, until she’s not sure if she’s holding Santana or Santana’s holding her as they cry into each other’s necks, neither of them wanting to be the first to let go.

+

She stays in her room for the entire weekend, ignoring her phone and her mom when she calls her, just curled up on the bed staring at nothing at all and wondering if she’s done the right thing.

She remembers being the first to let go, and reaching for the door as Santana tried to pull her back, and then Santana following her to her door to try and get her to change her mind, both of them still sobbing and making so much noise that her mom had come to see what was wrong.

Santana had called the house a couple times and her cellphone a couple more, but she just kept telling her mom she didn’t want to talk to her and stayed in her room. 

She doesn’t sleep, because every time she closes her eyes she sees Santana crying in her head, and she drags herself into the shower on Sunday morning just to try and wake herself up. She goes downstairs and sits at the kitchen counter until her mom comes downstairs, and she squeezes her arm and smiles at her before she starts bustling around the kitchen, and then a few minutes later she sets a plate of pancakes down in front of her with a glass of orange juice, the same way she did when she was sick as a kid.

She starts to eat in silence, more because her mom made it than because she’s hungry, and when Ashley comes downstairs and sits opposite her with her own plate of pancakes, she watches her take a bite before she smiles at her shyly. 

“I never liked Santana anyway,” Ashley says loudly, meeting her eyes as her mom shakes her head behind her.

“Ashley,” her mom says warningly.

“Don’t say that, Ash,” Brittany murmurs softly, “Because you don’t mean it.” She watches her blush and set her face stubbornly. 

“If she hurt you then I don’t like her,” Ashley says, and Brittany has to climb to her feet so she can pull her into a hug, just to stop herself from crying.

+

Sam’s waiting for her by her locker Monday morning, and he pulls her into a hug before they’ve even said hello. “Santana told me,” he says into her hair, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, only she’s not entirely sure she means it.

+

The week passes in a blur. She drops a few points on a history quiz, so her teacher asks her if everything is okay, which is such a change from the year before that the question almost makes her laugh, before she says she’ll be fine.

It feels like Sam stays extra close by her side, and she’s pretty sure he runs interference with the other members of New Directions just so she doesn’t have to answer more questions than she has to.

Santana doesn’t pick her up anymore, so she gets the bus with Sam, and he sits in the aisle seat like he’s trying to protect her from something she isn’t even aware of. 

“Santana’s leaving next week,” he says, and she spins round to look at him, eyes wide.

“What?” she says hoarsely, grabbing at his arm like it’ll make him talk faster.

“She said she was going to New York because she can’t be here if she’s not here with you,” he says, almost sounding apologetic for having to tell her. “She asked me to give her a ride to the bus station, so I could drive her car back to her parents’ place.”

“I’ll come with you,” she says quietly, and doesn’t wait for him to respond.

+

Santana looks surprised when she opens the door to find them both on her porch, but she doesn’t say anything, just throws one bag over her shoulder and pulls her suitcase along behind her.

Brittany helps her put her bags in the trunk, both of them avoiding the other’s eyes as Sam shifts awkwardly behind them, and then Santana murmurs, “Thank you,” as Brittany closes the trunk.

Sam drives, so Brittany climbs into the back seat, Santana sitting twisted in the passenger seat so she can keep glancing at her like she’s checking she’s real. They’re not far from the bus station when Brittany lurches forward and reaches through the gap in the seats for Santana’s hand, and hears Santana huff out a breath of air as she holds on tightly.

Sam pulls into a space and gets out to get Santana’s bags, leaving them there together, neither of them wanting to move.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Santana says eventually, more to the window than to her, and Brittany nods to the back of her seat.

“I couldn’t let you go without seeing you again,” she says, and then Santana’s twisting right round in her seat to look at her.

“I love you, Britt,” she says softly, and Brittany can feel her chest get tight, like her heart is trying to fight its way out of her chest so it can go with Santana.

“I love you too,” she says hoarsly, and then they’re both moving again, Santana finding her lips and clutching at her cheek with her hand.

“Go and be a star in New York,” Brittany says when they’ve pulled back to rest their foreheads together, her eyes squeezed shut against the tears that are threatening to fall, their breath taking turns to hitch between them.

“You’re my best friend,” Santana says, and then she’s pressing one last desperate kiss to her lips before she reaches for the door handle.

“Yeah,” Brittany murmurs, the same way she thinks she has before, “Me too,” and then she’s sobbing angry hot tears in the backseat as Santana gets smaller and smaller in the wing mirror.

+

She’s still crying when Sam comes back fifteen minutes later, and he climbs into the backseat with her, pulling her against his side.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany sobs, “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I will,” but the tears are still falling and her throat is raw from the way she has to keep sucking in lungfuls of air.

“You don’t have to,” Sam murmurs, somewhere above her, stroking his fingers through her hair. “Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, only she’s not sure if she’s apologising to him or the one person who’s no longer there to hear her.


	3. Rachel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn’t supposed to go backwards anymore, only she’s veered so far off what she always thought of as forwards now that she’s not sure what to do.

After eight months in the city she likes to think that she’s gotten used to this, that there are no more surprises to offer, and then Santana Lopez’s voice crackles out of her intercom and she actually has to pinch herself in case this is some kind of bizarre dream.

Not that she’s usually in the habit of dreaming about Santana Lopez.

“Santana?” she says, sure that her mouth is hanging open comically as she waits for the reply.

The intercom hisses, and then Santana’s saying, “Are you gonna let me in or what?” sounding exactly the same way she did in high school, all attitude and harsh edges.

“Santana _Lopez_?” she says again, just to make sure, and then almost jumps when the reply comes back.

“How many other Santanas do you know,” she says, and Rachel can almost hear her rolling her eyes.

+

“This is surprisingly tasteful,” Santana says when she opens the door, stepping inside and eyeballing the prints on the walls. “Or did they come with the place?”

She knows Santana, so she knows the way she’s pacing is just to hide her nerves, because she used to do the same thing before all of their competitions, and snap at anyone who asked her if she was okay.

“Hello,” Rachel says pointedly, fighting the old urge to take a step backwards when Santana turns around to look at her, her eyes sliding up and down quickly. “Can I help you with something?”

Santana takes a tiny half step back, her eyes widening a little. “You said I should come to New York. You said I could stay here while I found a place.”

“I said that four months ago. And didn’t I say something about calling first too?” she says, folding her arms over her chest, and Santana shrugs uncomfortably, all the bravado of a minute before disappearing.

She opens her mouth but no words come out, and then she glances down at the floor and shrugs, swallowing before she tries again. “I just— I had to leave Lima in a hurry, okay?” And when she meets her eyes again there’s this sadness lurking in them that Rachel’s never seen before. 

Santana doesn’t offer any more information, and she knows better than to ask, not when Santana actually looks vulnerable, the same way she used to at the end of their junior year, when she thought no-one could see her.

She sighs, and closes the door. “Of course you can stay, Santana,” she says, and Santana offers her a little half smile.

“I got a newspaper. I think it has apartments to rent,” Santana says, after a minute, pulling it out of her shoulder bag and offering it to her.

“You’re not going to live with a serial killer,” she says, glancing at the newspaper Santana offers her and tugging it out of her hands. “I know some websites you can try.”

+

“Jesus Christ!” Santana hisses, from the couch, pulling the sheet up over her head.

Rachel winces and flicks the light switch off again, “Sorry, I forgot you were there.”

“What time is it,” Santana groans, as Rachel tries to feel her way towards the fridge, suddenly grateful for her open plan apartment.

“Seven,” Rachel says, squinting against the light from the fridge as she opens the door and pulls out her soy milk. “I have dance class at eight thirty.”

“Jesus,” Santana mutters again as the kettle starts to boil, and Rachel just makes an extra coffee and sets it on the edge of the table before she leaves.

+

“So who did you blow to get this apartment?” Santana asks after Rachel buzzes her in later and then rolls her eyes when Rachel makes a face.

“NYADA doesn’t have dorms, but they have an approved list of housing,” Rachel says with a sigh, looking up from her computer. “This was one of the better places, obviously, but I didn’t have to perform any kind of sexual favours to get it.”

“All the places I looked at had the bed, like, next to the fridge, and that whole starving artist _RENT_ thing is a little too 90s for my taste,” Santana says, collapsing on the couch next to her.

Rachel just looks at her, and Santana freezes for a second, meeting her eyes. “What?” She swipes a hand through her hair kind of nervously, peeling it back from her face.

_Don’t make yourself at home,_ Rachel wants to say, because she doesn’t know if she can handle someone else coming in and then out of her life the same way Kurt and Finn—

“I printed out another three places for you to try,” Rachel says instead, passing the pages over and watching Santana flick through them quickly.

+

“I’m pretty sure that second place had bullet holes in the wall,” Santana says, when she gets home the next day, and Rachel just wordlessly passes her laptop over, already loaded up with three different rental websites.

+

“Santana!” she says, when she comes home and trips over Santana’s shoes and bag for the fifth time. “Seriously?” She bends to pick them up and toss them towards Santana on the couch. “How hard is it to keep your area of the room tidy?”

“I don’t have anywhere to put stuff,” Santana says immediately, shoving her things under the coffee table as Rachel watches her, unimpressed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find somewhere to live!” Rachel snaps before she thinks better of it, just because her acting class was draining today, and Santana actually beat her to the shower this morning and nearly used all the hot water, and this is the fifth time she’s come home from class in as many days and nearly toppled over Santana’s ridiculous heels by the door.

She catches a glance of Santana’s expression before she stomps off towards her room and slams the door, flopping down on her bed and trying not to think of the way Santana’s face had fallen when she’d shouted at her.

_She’ll find somewhere soon, and then there’ll be no more shoes by the door_ , she thinks, and then rolls over, pressing her face into the pillow to try and make the thought go away.

+

She’s just started to nod off when Santana knocks at her door and says, “I found some more places to look at tomorrow.”

She drags herself over to the door and opens it, and Santana’s standing there with a cup of coffee in her hand, almost like she’s trying to hide it. “And I, er, made you this,” she says, offering it to her.

“Thanks,” she says as she takes it.

“No problem,” Santana shifts a little on the spot before nodding, and going back to the couch.

+

Santana calls her when she’s between NYADA buildings and in danger of being late for class but she still answers, even though she should probably let it go to voicemail.

“I found a place!” Santana’s voice says in lieu of hello, and Rachel dodges around a couple of upperclassmen carrying costumes and presses her phone tighter against her ear.

“Did the bed have walls around it?” she asks, because it’s literally the only thing she can think to say, and hears Santana laugh.

“I’m getting pizza to celebrate. I’ll see you after class, okay?” and then the line goes dead, and she stares at her phone for a minute before shoving it back into her purse and hurrying towards her classroom.

+

Santana’s shoes aren’t by the door when she gets home.

She steps further into the room apprehensively, but there’s still no sign of Santana’s stuff, and she stops and stares for a second, almost not recognising her apartment now it’s back to normal.

“Santana?” she calls, wondering for a half a second if she already left without telling her, if that’s it now and they’ll run into each other at some audition in a few months and pretend they don’t know each other.

“Your vegan approximation of pizza is disgusting,” Santana says, stepping around the corner where the kitchen is with a pizza box in her hands and offering it to her, and Rachel breathes out a shaky sigh of relief as she takes it, before she remembers to roll her eyes.

+

She goes with Santana when she moves her stuff, more because she wants to see what kind of a place Santana has found for herself than because Santana needs the help, and she makes Santana stop so she can go and get a bottle of awful $2 wine from the deli on the corner, where one glance at her fake ID seven months ago had been enough to convince them that she was old enough to be drinking.

“What’s that for?” Santana asks, when she comes out again.

“Your moving in present,” Rachel says and watches Santana huff out a laugh.

“We’re not launching a ship,” Santana says, but she still takes the bottle from her and tucks it into her shoulder bag just the same.

+

Santana’s apartment is small, with a tiny bathroom and a room only just big enough for the bed it holds off to one side, but it’s nice, in a hipster-chic sort of a way, and she watches Santana make a show of opening the fridge and turning the tap on in the kitchen sink, like she’s showing off something more than a shitty little apartment in a shitty little neighbourhood in Brooklyn.

+

They both realise that Santana doesn’t actually own anything to drink out of at about the same time, and Santana takes a long pull from the bottle before she offers it to her, with a little bit of a challenge lurking in her eyes.

She reaches for it without stopping to think, swallowing some and then wincing at the taste.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” Santana says, and when Rachel just raises her eyebrows and looks at her, starting to smirk, Santana starts to laugh and says, “No really,” reaching for her suitcase and dragging it towards the tiny bedroom.

+

“You don’t have any pictures of Brittany,” Rachel says later, when they’ve nearly finished the wine and they’re sitting side by side on the futon left behind by whoever lived here before.

Santana pulls the wine from her hands and takes a drink, watching the liquid slosh back in the bottle when she passes it back. “You don’t have any pictures of Finn,” she says eventually, and Rachel just nods, staring at the wine.

“Oh,” she says, and then Santana’s on her feet and crossing the room to lean out of the window, head tilting up to the sky before she scrambles out and disappears.

“Santana, be careful!” she hisses, because she knows Santana’s had just as much wine as her, and she has to take her time climbing up the fire escape, setting her hands carefully and watching her feet. When she gets up there, Santana’s sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Santana?” Rachel says, sinking down a little unsteadily next to her.

“Me and Britt broke up,” Santana says, “Or well, she broke up with me.” She shrugs helplessly and stares down at her knees.

_Finn broke up with me before I got on that train to New York after graduation, and by the time I got back he’d left for basic training_ , Rachel wants to say, but all she says is, “I’m sorry, Santana.”

“I’m sorry about Finn,” Santana says after a moment, like she heard her thought, and Rachel just nods and knocks their feet together.

They’re silent for a while, neither of them really wanting to break the moment they’re sharing, and then Santana says, “I have no idea how we’re going to get down from here.”

“The fire escape,” Rachel says seriously, like it’s obvious, and Santana spins to look at her, her head swaying for a moment before she bursts out laughing.

+

She doesn’t see Santana for a week, and at first she thinks that maybe she was right about her disappearing once she found her own place. She’s surprised how much the thought upsets her and how used to her she’s gotten after only a month, and she pushes the thought away, sure it’s just because she’s the first friendly face she’s seen from back home.

It’s easy to look backwards for a second when a walking, talking reminder of your past shows up at your door one afternoon and refuses to leave, and she throws herself into her classes instead, just to try and get back on track.

She goes out on Saturday night with some friends from theatre tech, and the only reason she wakes up on Sunday morning is because someone’s been ringing her buzzer for the last ten minutes and doesn’t seem to be going away.

“I have bagels and coffee. They’re vegan, I made sure,” Santana’s voice says, and she presses the button to open the door so fast she almost punches the wall.

+

“So you never finished showing me around the city,” Santana says once they’re eating, looking past her at the kitchen cabinets instead of meeting her eyes.

“Where did you want to go?” Rachel asks, and smiles when Santana’s eyes slide over to hers.

+

They fall into this habit of meeting for coffee at this little shop near the NYADA buildings to search through the lists of open auditions Rachel gets from the theatre department, circling anything they think looks like it could be interesting.

She’s not really looking all that seriously for herself, because she has more than enough on her plate with balancing all of her classes with the rehearsals for the musicals they stage at school on a monthly basis, but Santana says she’s going to go.

“My mom’s money won’t last forever,” she says, stirring her stick around her cup. “I wanna try to do something at least before I have to go back to Lima because I’m broke.”

“I’ll sublet my couch to you,” Rachel says and Santana rolls her eyes.

“What part of broke didn’t you understand?” she says, but she’s smiling when she says it.

+

She goes with Santana to one of her auditions, standing at the side of the stage and watching her try to do the combination the guy demonstrates, but she’s half a beat off on a couple of the steps and gets cut in the first group, slouching back over to Rachel with narrowed eyes.

“Shut up,” she says, as Rachel hands her her bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Rachel says, following her as they pick their way past all the other dancers backstage, Santana nearly tripping over someone’s feet.

“Jesus, it’s like A freaking Chorus Line in here,” Santana grouses, pushing through a group of people as Rachel hurries to catch up with her.

“What, I know musicals,” Santana says off her look when they get outside. “Michael Douglas, the gay dude who busts his knee and that Cassie chick always popping her head,” she throws hers back just to demonstrate, waving her hand and pretending to lift a hat up and down.

“Maybe you should take a dance class, Cassie,” Rachel says, as Santana nearly bumps into someone coming the other way, and Santana takes a moment to scowl at him before she resumes walking.

“And mess with all this natural talent?” she says, attempting to do a body roll as she walks, and Rachel just raises her eyebrows at her, trying to stop herself from laughing.

+

Some days Santana meets her in the little courtyard between buildings after class, sitting on a bench with two cups of coffee balanced on her knees.

The fourth time it happens, she’s talking to one of her friends from the theatre department and he stops when she sees Santana smile and wave at Rachel.

“Your boyfriend’s waiting for you again,” he says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, and Rachel just carries on walking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tosses over her shoulder and hurries over to take the coffee from Santana’s hand.

+

“I’ve booked two train tickets to Boston for next week,” she tells Santana when she finds her in the coffee shop, and Santana just looks at her, confused.

“You’re going to Boston?” she says, and Rachel fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“Show choir Nationals are in Boston this year,” she says, “We have to go and support New Directions. It’s our championship they’re defending, Santana.”

“No way,” Santana says immediately, shaking her head. “I’m not spending my weekend at some lame show choir competition.”

“Lame?” Rachel asks, deflating a little in her seat. She knows Santana doesn’t really mean it because _I don’t want to see Brittany_ is stamped all over her face, but it hurts all the same.

“I’m not going,” Santana says, gathering her coffee cup and belongings together. “And I’m late for, I have to be across town for—” She doesn’t even bother to finish the excuse before she’s walking away, arms folded tightly across her chest. 

+

She doesn’t hear from Santana for another three days, and then she texts her on Friday night and all it says is _what time is the train tomoro??_

+

Santana’s already on the platform when she gets there, clutching two of the biggest cups of coffee she’s ever seen.

“Hello,” she says, and Santana nods at her, a little grudgingly.

“These are both for me,” she says, “Go get your own,” and Rachel just smiles and tugs one of the drinks out of her hands.

+

Santana stays behind her when they find the place, ducking down and using her as some sort of human shield until they find a seat in the auditorium and she can sit low down in that instead.

“There’s Mr Schue and Ms Pillsbury,” Rachel says, when she spots them closer to the stage, wishing they were closer themselves. “We should go and say hello.”

“Mr and Mrs Schue,” Santana corrects her lazily, but she makes no attempt to move and Rachel frowns at her until she sighs. “You can go if you like,” Santana says, and sinks a little lower in her seat.

+

The New Directions performance is amazing, polished and arranged perfectly for everyone’s voices, and she thinks they might win, even though the competition is the same high standard it is every year. 

She doesn’t miss the way Santana’s eyes stay trained on Brittany the whole time, even when she’s weaving in and out of everyone else in the group number, and after she and Tina dance lead together for the second song, she’s on her feet and whistling with everyone else, caught up in the performance and grinning like Brittany can see her, the same way they used to be back in the choir room.

“They performed really well,” Rachel says, when they’re applauding along with everyone else.

Santana doesn’t take her eyes off the bowing people on stage when she says, “Yeah, she did.”

+

She watches Mr Schue duck out of the auditorium a couple of groups later, and tells Santana that she’s going to see if she can catch up with him and see everyone else, and when she goes through the double doors she sees the New Directions scattered around the lobby in little groups, looking excited and nervous all at the same time.

Sam’s the first one to see her and he comes over straight away, Brittany drifting along with him as he grins at her and asks her what she thought. “It was a performance worthy of defending champions,” she says with a smile and watches him grin wider.

“How are things in New York?” Sam asks, with a sideways glance at Brittany as she slides her arm through his and fixes her eyes on Rachel, like she needs to hear her answer.

“Good,” Rachel says shyly, offering them a smile. “NYADA is amazing, and the city is so wonderful. I’m getting used to it,” she says, “And I think Santana is too.”

“How is—” Brittany starts to say, then stops herself and tries again, “Did you, are you here alone?” She asks, and then her gaze shifts so she’s looking past her at someone behind her head.

Rachel half turns, and sees Santana standing in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and then Brittany’s pushing past her and heading for her with a look of determination on her face. They’re too far away so she can’t hear what they’re saying, but she watches Santana hug herself reflexively, shifting her weight from side to side as she answers Brittany’s questions.

“Santana hasn’t really been answering Brittany’s calls,” Sam says as he watches them too. 

“She doesn’t really talk about what happened,” Rachel offers, “But I know she misses her. It’s just—”

“Santana,” Sam supplies with a smile. “I know.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and even though they’re both obviously trying not to watch them their eyes keep creeping back over, the perfect mirror image of each other.

“Brittany broke up with her,” Sam says after a moment, “Something about how they were just in different places.”

“Brittany didn’t want to go to New York?” Rachel asks, and Sam shakes his head.

“Not everyone has big dreams. She’s thinking about signing up for classes at Rhodes State. Me too, actually,” Sam says, and they’re both trying hard to avoid looking at Brittany and Santana now, at the way they’re getting closer, Brittany’s hand on Santana’s arm like she’s trying to keep her in place. “I’m working for Mr Hummel’s garage now since Finn left, and Brittany’s helping out with some of the kids’ dance classes at her studio.”

“I’m happy for you guys, Sam. Really,” she says and then they both watch as Brittany wraps her arms around Santana tightly and Santana pushes her face into Brittany’s shoulder, her arms coming up to press against her back, like she’s trying to pull her closer. There’s something about the way Sam looks at them, somewhere between concern and sadness, that she thinks perfectly matches the expression on her face.

+

She doesn’t ask Santana about it, and Santana doesn’t say anything until they’re on the train back home, after the New Directions win their second national title.

“Brittany’s going to college,” Santana says, this note of pride in her voice, and Rachel tries to smile at her as they leave Boston behind.

+

Everything seems to speed up when they get back to the city. She gets home to an email saying she has the second lead in the end of year production with a rehearsal schedule that looks more than a little sadistic since she has finals coming up too.

She doesn’t see Santana as much, but she keeps showing up between classes, almost like she knows her schedule, to hand her cups of coffee before she disappears to wherever it is she hangs out all day.

“You guys seriously aren’t dating,” Tristan says to her, when he sees Santana waiting for her again, her bare legs kicked up on one of the stone benches in a little patch of sunlight, and she pulls her eyes away to give him a look.

“I think she wants to be your boyfriend,” he stage whispers, and she grabs his arm and pulls him behind a corner of the building so Santana can’t see them.

“First off,” she says indignantly, pulling herself up to her full height, which is still a head shorter than he is. “She’d be my _girlfriend_ , because she’s a _girl_. And secondly, no she doesn’t. She’s my friend,” she says, and doesn’t even stop to think how that word doesn’t sound even the littlest bit strange anymore.

“Sure,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced, and he leans around the corner to get another look at her, hiking his satchel a little higher on his shoulder. “She’s hot though,” he says and then laughs when Rachel raises her eyebrows. “Y’know, for a girl.”

“She’s beautiful,” Rachel agrees, maybe a little quicker than she has to, “Now will you please shut up so we can go over there without me wanting to stuff something in your mouth?”

+

Rehearsals for the show take up most of her time, so she only really sees Santana at weekends when she comes over just to complain about how busy she is and they never see each other anymore.

“Don’t you have other friends?” Rachel asks, because she has rehearsal all day today and the thought of everyone else’s drama the closer they get to the first show is making her wish she’d never signed up for this in the first place.

Santana opens her mouth and then shuts it again, startled, and then she says, “Yeah, I’ll go hang out with them,” as she stands up and heads for the door.

It’s only once the door’s shut and Santana’s gone that it occurs to Rachel that Santana was lying, and then she feels awful all through rehearsal, so she ends up messing up one of her numbers and having to stay late to run it again.

+

The last weekend before the show opens, Santana’s just about to press the buzzer when she comes out the door, on her way to the last dress rehearsal.

“Oh,” Santana says in surprise and then starts to trail after her when she heads for the subway.

“Did you get my ticket yet?” she asks just before they get there, after she’s handed over the bagels she’s carrying.

“Ticket?” Rachel asks, coming to a stop at the top of the steps for the station.

“For opening night. I want to see how much you suck, obviously,” Santana says with a grin, and Rachel just looks at her for a minute before she sighs out a yes and starts to walk down the stairs.

+

When she gets on stage opening night and sees the empty seat she got for Santana on the front row she almost stumbles over her first line before Tristan shoots her a look from where he’s waiting to come on stage and she continues, playing it off like she was just pausing for a moment before she began. The rest of the show goes off without a hitch and it’s not until she’s taken her bow that she lets herself get annoyed, wiping her make-up off her face and grimacing in the mirror.

“Did your boyfriend show?” Tristan asks, as he sticks his head in the door and Rachel just throws her used make-up wipe at him and watches it flutter to the floor between them.

+

Santana’s leaning against the corridor by the stage door waiting for her when she comes out after, and she grins when she sees her. “You were awesome,” she says, and Rachel just glares at her, walking past without saying anything.

“Rach? Hey Rachel?” Santana says, trailing along after her. “I said you were awesome, but we must have slipped into some parallel universe where you don’t want to listen to someone compliment you.”

“I saw your empty seat,” Rachel hisses, spinning around to face her and watching Santana take a step backwards. “Don’t pretend you saw it all!”

Santana hesitates for a half second and then she says, “Your first solo you absolutely nailed every mark and hit it out of the park. The duet? That other chick let you down, she kept stepping on your lines and she was like weirdly out of time somehow. And at the end? I think you got more applause than she did.”

Rachel just blinks at her, breathing hard.

“I sat in the back,” Santana says, a smirk just starting to creep on to her face. “I didn’t want to distract you with all this,” she gestures down at herself and then sticks her hip out, posing as Rachel stops to look at her.

They stare at each other for a moment, but she genuinely has no idea what to say, so she just shakes her head and resumes walking, until Santana catches up with her and asks where they’re going.

“You actually look nice,” Santana says, giving her the once over, and Rachel’s torn somewhere between being pleased and wanting to smack her.

It’s not an unusual feeling.

“Thank you,” she says sarcastically. “My friend is having an after party. Tell Jamie what you told me about the duet, because if I tell her she won’t talk to me for a week,” she says all in a rush, and Santana just laughs as she hooks her arm through hers.

+

“You guys make a really cute couple,” she hears Neil tell Santana when she’s coming back with their drinks, and she watches Santana stare at him for a minute before she shouts back over the music.

“What?”

“You and Rachel,” Neil says, leaning in a little closer. “You’re really good together.”

“What?” Santana says again, eyes wide and kind of frozen, and Rachel would laugh if she wasn’t busy wishing she could disappear.

“Tristan said you guys were together,” Neil shouts back and Santana just keeps staring, looking like she has no idea how to even form words.

“Rach and I are just friends,” she says eventually, and then, “Nope, still gay,” when Neil takes that as a suggestion to slide a little closer on the couch.

“What are you guys talking about?” Rachel asks, stepping closer, and Santana stiffens like she’s never seen her before.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and then grabs her cup and takes a long drink, grimacing against the taste.

+

“Why do all your friends think we’re dating?” Santana asks later, looking like she’s had about another fifth of liquor since the last time she saw her.

“Tristan started joking about it because you kept bringing me coffee,” she says with a shrug, “And he saw you open the door for me once.”

Santana just blinks at her. “Whatever, I was being polite,” she says, taking another sip of her drink. “I thought you were too short to reach the handle.”

“You’re like two inches taller than me!” Rachel says with a disbelieving laugh, and Santana just scoffs.

“You’re not even into girls,” Santana shouts back, and Rachel just looks at her because, well. 

“Are you kidding,” Santana says, emphasising each word as her eyes widen in disbelief.

“You never asked!” Rachel says but Santana just turns and walks away, disappearing in a crowd of people, and Rachel rocks back on her heels, watching her go.

+

She doesn’t find Santana anywhere at the party, and in the end Tristan puts her in a cab on her own, apologising over and over again for screwing things up between them.

“We’re not even together!” Rachel protests for the fourth time, but he just grips her arm and meets her eyes steadily.

“Oh honey,” he says, “Don’t think like that,” and she groans in frustration and pulls the cab door shut, watching him get smaller through the window.

+

In the morning, Santana’s at her door with coffee and all she says is, “I can’t believe we could have been going out and hitting on girls together this whole time,” and then laughs when Rachel gapes at her, shaking her head as she reaches for her cup.

“I’ve never once seen you hit on a girl,” she says and Santana just scoffs, sipping at her drink.

“I don’t need to,” she says, “Girls find me,” and then Rachel starts to laugh, until Santana’s looking so offended that she can’t stop, gasping for air and clutching at the table.

+

Pretty soon, there’s only a week left before she finishes school for the summer, just a couple of weeks left to hand in all the assignments so she gets credit for the show, and she doesn’t realise how little time she has left before she gets an email reminding her that the lease on her apartment is almost up and what she needs to do when she moves out.

She completely forgot that she was supposed to be going home for the summer, and she looks over at Santana, flicking through want ads online, and wonders if that’s what she really wants to do.

She wasn’t supposed to go backwards anymore, only she’s veered so far off what she always thought of as forwards now that she’s not sure what to do.

+

They watch a movie later, just because neither of them wants to go out, Rachel because she’s enjoying having nowhere to be now the show’s finished it’s run and Santana because she had an audition earlier that went on forever, and she still didn’t get the part. She’d managed to talk Santana into watching the PBS recording of the original production of Sunday in the Park with George on netflix as long as she didn’t start singing, and she settles for thinking the lyrics instead of singing them, and whispering them under her breath.

Santana actually gets more into it than she thought she would, especially in the second act when it moves forward to the 80s, looking heartbroken all through Marie singing Children and Art.

They’re so quiet through Move On that you could hear a pin drop, and she knows it’s a cliché to feel like the song was written for her, but Bernadette Peters singing about how you should look at what you’ve done then at what you want, not at where you are or where you’ll be cuts through her like it’s the only thing she needs to hear.

When they’ve finished, Rachel wipes at her eyes and blurts out, “I was supposed to go back to Lima for the summer, but I don’t think I want to,” and Santana looks over at her and shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Stay with me until the fall,” she says, without missing a beat. “I have a futon,” and Rachel sucks in a breath before she nods, just once.

+

Santana helps her move her stuff, and they get it all in the back of a cab pretty easily, both of them squashed together in the seat, almost in each other’s laps. They meet each other’s eyes awkwardly and look away, and she’s suddenly glad that Santana’s apartment isn’t really all that far from her old one.

“Oh wait, we forgot something,” Santana says, once they’ve got everything inside, and then she grabs the keys and disappears, without saying where she’s going. 

She tucks her few plates and kitchen utensils away while Santana’s gone, and she’s just looking for somewhere to put her clothes when the door opens and Santana reappears, grinning widely, and Rachel realises that she hadn’t gone that far.

“Moving in present,” she says, offering Rachel a bottle of wine similar to the one she’d bought from the deli back when Santana had found this place.

“There’s no way I’m drinking that,” Rachel says, and Santana’s grin gets wider as she looks like she can’t wait to prove her wrong.

+

“Thanks for letting me move in with you,” Rachel says later, when they’re up on the roof enjoying the last warmth of the summer night.

“Thanks for, well, everything since I came to New York,” Santana says after a moment, setting her mug of wine down next her so she can take Rachel’s hand hesitantly, like she thinks Rachel might pull away.

Rachel curls her fingers up around Santana’s and smiles until Santana returns it, and then she nods down at the mug next to her and says, “We should get wine glasses.”

“We’re not getting married, Rach,” Santana scoffs and then laughs at the offended look on her face.

+

The two months before school starts again seems to pass quicker than she ever thought they could, even though it doesn’t feel like she does anything but get ahead on her fall reading and practice her dancing, Santana drifting in and out as she goes for her dance and acting classes, or auditions whenever she finds something interesting.

They fall into this pattern where whoever’s home last brings dinner with them and whoever leaves first makes sure the coffee pot is still warm before they go, and it’s nice to have someone to count on, the way she never really has before. 

A couple of her friends stayed in the city for the summer as well, so she sees them when she can, and Tristan still asks how she and Santana are every time he sees her.

“We’re living together,” Rachel tells him eventually, when it’s getting towards the end of July and Santana’s on her way to meet them at his loft, “And we’re _friends_ which I know is difficult for you to understand but—”

“Glaciers move faster than you two,” he says and she just ignores him, because she really doesn’t know how many times she can tell him that he’s wrong.

+

She’s looking through the NYADA housing list when Santana comes home, and she leans over the back of the couch to check what’s on her screen, frowning a little when she sees it.

“You should just stay here,” she says, going to get forks for the Thai food she’s bought, and Rachel blinks at her as she comes back.

“Really?” she says, as Santana starts to unpack the food.

“We could get a real wardrobe for your clothes,” Santana says after a moment, “And God knows I could use the help on the rent, so.”

“Put your food down,” Rachel says, “I’m going to hug you now,” and then she’s reaching for Santana and pulling her against her, wrapping her arms tightly around her neck as Santana slowly reaches up to hug her back.

“I mean why would you want to move your stuff again, right?” Santana asks when they separate, poking her fork into her noodles, and Rachel wants to laugh at the way she looks, like she’s embarrassed and doesn’t know where to look.

“Right,” Rachel agrees, and then grins when Santana looks up to catch her eye.

+

Santana doesn’t tell her that she has an audition because it’s the same week she starts school again and she’s busy enough trying to remember where all her new classes are, but she calls her to tell her she got the part, almost shouting down the phone she’s so excited.

“It’s in the chorus but it’s a part! I have a part!” Santana says and then she’s laughing so loudly down the phone that Rachel has to hold it away from her ear. “I’m getting deli wine on the way home,” she says when she’s calmed down. “We’re celebrating tonight!”

“That’s not celebrating, that’s commiserating,” Rachel protests, but Santana’s already hung up, and she stares at her phone for a moment, wondering what she ever did to deserve this.

+

“Rach?” Santana calls when she gets home, kicking the door shut behind her, “Time to celebrate!” and she watches her produce two bottles of wine from her bag with a flourish, offering them to her with a grin.

“You have got to be kidding,” Rachel says, but she takes the glass Santana pours for her anyway, wrinkling her nose as she stares into it before she takes a sip.

+

They’re halfway through the second bottle of wine when she suddenly feels like it’s too hot, and she heads for the window, climbing out onto the fire escape as Santana shouts, “Rach, be careful!” after her.

She’s pretty sure it takes twice as long as usual to get to the roof, and after a moment, Santana scrambles over the top as well, falling down next to her.

“Nobody calls me Rach,” she says, once Santana’s leaning back against the wall and drawing her knees up to her chest.

“Oh, sorry,” Santana says immediately, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“No, I mean it’s nice,” Rachel says, turning her head to look at her. “No one else cared enough to shorten it.”

Santana just blinks at her for a second, some of the fuzziness fading from her eyes the longer they sit in the open air. “I do care,” she says quietly, searching her eyes for a second, and then she lurches forward, coming closer before she stops, and then kind of half laughs to herself.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes glancing down at Rachel’s lips as she shakes her head, “I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Rachel says, and then her hand is on the back of Santana’s neck and pulling her closer, glancing up into her eyes just once before their lips meet.

Santana tastes like the wine they’ve been drinking, but her lips are soft and her mouth is warm, and they melt together in the darkness, Santana’s hand tangling into her hair as she turns into Rachel and kisses her again.


	4. Santana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t know how to tell her that that is the opposite of the problem, that she wants this so much it scares her, so she just leans up and kisses her again, soft and insistent, pulling her as close as she can.

It takes her a minute, when she wakes up. She rubs her hand against the dryness in her eyes—she didn’t take her contacts out and it takes a while to get her eyes to blink without feeling like her eyelids are dragging her eyeballs with them—and it’s only when her vision clears that she realises someone is in bed next to her.

Rachel is in bed next to her.

The covers are bunched around Rachel’s hips, her hair spilling down over her back, the skin all smooth and soft in this way that she really wants to feel again. She can hear her making these soft little breathy sounds as she sleeps, totally at ease like there’s nothing weird about sleeping in Santana’s bed. 

Sleeping naked in Santana’s bed.

She stares at her for a moment, reaching out to stroke the back of her hand against her hair for a second before she realises what she’s doing and pulls away. Whatever, she’s still half asleep.

She finds the dress she’d been wearing on the floor and steps over it to tug a t-shirt and sweatpants out of a drawer and pull them on. Her fingers shake, and she doesn’t bother to close the drawer in case the noise wakes Rachel up.

She only glances back at her once, before she pushes the door open and steps out into their apartment, tripping over her shoes and then Rachel’s the closer she gets to the window.

+

She has no idea what time it is, and she stares out at the fire escape, feeling the chill in the air before she slides the window down and goes back over to the kitchen counter, pulling out one of their mismatched stools so she can sit down.

Her hands are shaking and she can’t seem to make them stop, even though she tries by pressing her palms flat to the counter, fingers outstretched but trembling no matter what she does.

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, staring down at her hands trying to make sense of it. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when Rachel wakes up, what she’s going to say to her about how this feels when she doesn’t even really know how to explain it to herself.

It’s not like with Brittany, where she fought all those demons and learnt how to talk to her and look her in the eye while she did it.

It’s not like with Brittany at all.

+

She sits there until the sun starts to glint through the window and then she lurches off her seat and goes to fetch her cell phone, her fingers dialing the number she still hasn’t forgotten despite everything before she can think better of it.

When someone finally picks up, it’s not who she expects. “Hello?” Sam says, voice hoarse like she’s woken him up, which she figures she probably has.

“Sam?” she asks. She pulls the phone away from her ear for a second to check that she did dial the right number, but the screen says Brittany’s name even if she had deleted the photo that used to show up because she couldn’t stand to see it all those time she was ignoring her calls. 

She presses it back to her ear just in time to hear him say, “Hold on, she’s right here.”

It seems to take forever, and she thinks more than once about hanging up as she listens to Sam murmur something and then the fumble of him passing the phone to wherever Brittany is.

“Santana?” Brittany says thickly, and just hearing her say her name makes her chest tighten painfully. “Is everything okay? It’s like six in the morning or something.”

The fact that even after everything that’s the first thing she asks hurts her in a way she doesn’t have words for. 

“I was just thinking about you,” Santana croaks out when Brittany doesn’t say anything else. “I don’t even know why I’m calling.” She wipes a hand over her eyes before her brain catches up a little and she asks, “Wait, where are you right now?”

“Uh, Sam’s place,” Brittany says after a pause. “We went to a party last night.” She’s silent for a minute longer, and Santana feels the silence stretch, the weight of too many things they both want to say but don’t know how hanging between them. 

She hears Brittany moving, coughing to clear her throat and then she says, “Santana?” 

Santana holds her breath, waiting for her to go on. 

“I’m really glad you called,” Brittany whispers, and Santana sinks her head down onto her arm as she sighs out, holding the phone close to her ear.

“Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, me too.”

+

She’s still sitting there an hour later, her phone in front of her on the counter now, when the door to her room opens and Rachel comes out. She doesn’t want to look at her but she does, her eyes sweeping up her bare legs even though she tries to stop them, until she gets to the jumper Rachel’s thrown on, long enough to just hide her underwear, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

She doesn’t know when she started to notice the way Rachel looked, but now it’s like she can’t stop, and she forces herself to look down at the counter again as the silence stretches.

“Santana?” Rachel says eventually, crossing the apartment that’s never felt smaller, until she stops over by the couch, her arms crossed in front of her.

She kind of startles at the sound of her name and looks up, seeing this mix of hope and fear on Rachel’s face that makes her heart twist in her chest again.

“How long have you been out here?” Rachel asks quietly, and Santana just shakes her head, her jaw tightening. 

“Santana?” Rachel says again when she still doesn’t speak. “Say something please.”

“We drank a lot last night,” is what comes out in this strangely flat voice, and she hates herself when she sees Rachel’s face fall, all the hope disappearing in an instant. “I’m sorry about—”

“No,” Rachel whispers, cutting across her. She takes a step forward, her arms tightening around her middle. “Don’t you dare,” she says, almost choking over the words. “Don’t you dare do that.”

“I don’t—” Santana starts to say, and then Rachel grabs her hands and tries to find her eyes and it’s all she can do to get away. She almost falls off the stool, pulling her hands back as she takes steps towards the door. “I’m not—”

“Santana,” Rachel says, pleadingly, her eyes wide as she tries to follow her.

She grabs her coat from the hook by the door and stuffs her feet into a pair of boots without really seeing them, and then the door’s open and Rachel’s shouting, “I’m not going anywhere you know,” in this broken voice after her as she runs down the stairs.

+

She doesn’t pay attention to where she’s going until she gets on to the street, and then she just picks a direction and walks, heading vaguely to a diner she knows is open a couple of blocks away. She keeps her head down to avoid the glare from the early morning sun and shoves her hands into her coat pockets, not caring that she looks awful right now in her sweats with her messy hair. Her hangover’s starting to catch up with her, a faint dull ache in the back of her head, pounding in time with her footsteps on the sidewalk. 

If she’s honest they really didn’t drink all that much, not enough for them to not know what they were doing, and she just shakes her head to try and make the pain go away, to try and make all the thoughts go away.

She stumbles into the diner and asks for coffee when the waitress comes over, hoping it’ll wake her up, and even though it tastes like crap it helps for a minute. She feels it burn all the way down her throat.

She wonders if Rachel’s drinking coffee at the apartment, trying to wake up as she waits for Santana to come back. She wonders if Rachel is even waiting at all, or if she’s given up already, the way she probably deserves. 

She never meant for this to happen, and then Rachel and her damn legs—

No, not her legs. Rachel with her easy touches and soft smiles, and that way she listened with her whole body, that way she cared about everything and everyone too much. She hadn’t got it before, but she gets it now, because there are people she cares about too much as well, only she never knows how to tell them until it’s too late and their days are numbered, counting down to when it’ll all go wrong again. 

She asks for a refill when she’s finished the first cup, and sits there staring into it until it’s gone cold, and then she tucks a five dollar bill under it and heads for the door.

+

She has to stop before she opens the door, just to take a breath and try to stop her legs shaking, the same way she’d had to years ago in a hallway at McKinley. 

Rachel’s on the couch, and she startles when she hears the door open, leaning over the back as she turns around to look at her. “Santana,” she says, and watches her stop a couple of feet away with wide eyes.

She doesn’t have words prepared, not like before, but she still takes a breath like she’s about to start some speech. “Please, for once, just don’t say anything. Just let me do this and then you can talk all you want. Or sing. Whatever.” She pauses for half a second while Rachel nods slowly, her lips tightening into a line like she’s actually trying to clamp her mouth closed, and she wants to laugh, but.

“I’m not— the thing is, I’m not good at this. Okay? I’ve never been good at this. And you’re the first girl since Brittany— since Brittany and I broke up. You’re the first girl that I’ve ever—” She pauses and swallows, trying not to look at the way Rachel is staring at her, her eyes soft and shining, “—apart from Brittany. So I don’t— I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t know how to do this with someone who isn’t—”

Rachel’s eyes drop down to stare at her hands on the couch and she nods a little, like she knew this was coming. “I get it,” she starts to say, cutting across her, and Santana lurches forward a step to cover her hand with hers.

“No, I mean I want to learn,” she says quickly, desperately, until Rachel looks up at her again, the same hopeful expression from that morning back on her face. “I mean, we should try this, because I wasn’t lying on the roof last night, Rach.” 

“Really?” Rachel says, breaking into one of her beaming smiles. It looks like the sun coming up, and she has to look away. 

Santana shrugs, her laugh getting caught in her throat. “If you want,” she says, and it feels like forever until Rachel nods shyly and turns her hand over to wind her fingers through Santana’s.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she says and Santana would roll her eyes, but.

+

“You’re not the first person since Finn,” Rachel says, later. 

She stirs against Rachel’s side, wondering if she’s waiting for her to say something. 

“But I remember how it felt,” Rachel says after a moment, her fingers tightening against Santana’s hip. “So it’s okay.”

She turns her head to look up at her, meeting Rachel’s eyes for a moment before she glances away. There’s more to this story, she’s pretty sure, but she doesn’t know how to ask so she settles for squeezing Rachel’s fingers instead until Rachel’s eyes come back to hers.

“You mean there’s someone running around this city whose ass I have to kick?” she says eventually, and then Rachel laughs and shoves her away, until she leans up to press their lips together again, just to get her to stop.

+

She’s been yawning for at least half an hour when Rachel whispers, “We should go to bed,” into her hair. “I have class in the morning.”

“Bed,” Santana echoes, and then her eyes open as she realises what that means. Rachel’s already looking at her, and she just shakes her head and smiles softly.

“Come on,” she says, standing up and offering her hand to her. “Let’s just go to sleep, no funny business, okay?”

She’s pretty sure she should be concerned that she’s with someone who just referred to sex as ‘funny business’ but she just says “Okay,” and lets herself be pulled towards the door.

+

It’s weird how things don’t really change. Rachel goes to class and leaves the coffee pot on for her, and she comes home late from the rehearsals for her show, exhausted but with dinner for the both of them, even if she barely makes it to the couch before she collapses so that Rachel has to coax her into eating something before she falls asleep.

The only thing that really changes is that they move Rachel’s clothes into the bedroom, fighting for space on the rail next to Santana’s so that Santana ends up emptying out one of the drawers and giving her that as well.

“Thank you,” Rachel says, when they’re both standing back to admire their work, and Santana loops an arm around Rachel’s waist when she leans in to kiss her, turning her head at the last minute so their mouths meet.

“No problem,” she says when they pull apart and watches Rachel grin up at her, until she’s smiling back herself.

+

A few days later, Brittany calls when she’s just about to leave for rehearsal, and she shouts goodbye to Rachel and then waits until she’s out in the hall before she answers, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she shuts the door behind her.

“Hey Britt, what’s up,” she says, shoving her keys into her bag as she heads down the stairs.

“You sound good,” Brittany says without preamble, “I just wanted to see if you were feeling better but I guess you are.”

“Um, yeah,” Santana says, she bites her lip for a second, wondering if she should tell Brittany about Rachel. She’s not sure if that’s a conversation she’s ready to have. “Can I call you back? I’m actually just on my way to rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?” Brittany says, and it’s only then Santana realises she hasn’t told her about it, and this weird pang goes through her, that there’s something else in her life Brittany doesn’t know about.

“I got a part in the chorus for this, like, off-off-off Broadway thing. It’s, y’know, whatever, but it’s a start,” she fumbles through the explanation awkwardly and wonders when talking to Brittany got this hard.

“That’s awesome, Santana,” Brittany says excitedly, “Maybe me and Sam could come see you?” 

She shifts awkwardly, like Brittany’s there watching her, even though she isn’t. “It’s only a limited run. It’s on for like two weeks so—”

“Oh,” Brittany says sadly, and Santana takes a breath before she speaks again.

“But maybe, maybe you could come to the next one?” she says, holding her breath until Brittany answers.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Brittany says, and she can hear the smile in her voice even from all those miles away. 

+

Rehearsals are hard work, even after how much her dancing has improved since she started taking classes, and she feels tired all the way down to her bones, so it’s all she can do to get home again, dragging her bag after her. She feels the way she felt preparing for Nationals senior year but about fifty times worse, and she’s pretty sure she’d just face-plant on the floor as soon as she steps through the door if it wasn’t for Rachel coming over to pull her towards the couch when she drops her bag and kicks her shoes off, bracing both her palms against the bricks to keep herself upright.

“Come on,” Rachel says, tugging her fingers away from the wall. “I’ve got you.”

She’s not sure how she ends up lying on her bed, because one second she’s by the wall, and then she’s by the couch, and then she’s flat on her back as Rachel tugs her sweatpants down her legs and drops them on the floor and Santana lets her, too tired even to protest.

Rachel disappears from her line of vision and she hears a drawer opening, and then she’s back in an oversized NYADA t-shirt that makes Santana wish she could actually move right now, just for the way it skims her thighs. 

“Do you want pajamas?” Rachel asks, but she’s so beyond caring, and she just rolls onto her side, burying her head in the pillow. 

“I want you to come here,” she says, more into the pillow than to her, but Rachel still climbs up next to her, lying on her side facing her, her fingers reaching out to brush some of the hair away from Santana’s eyes.

“Show choir did not prepare me for this bullshit,” Santana murmurs as she reaches out to pull Rachel closer, just because she wants to feel her warmth against her.

“Me either,” Rachel says with a smirk, and then Santana huffs out a laugh, as she relaxes into her, Rachel’s hands creeping into her hair as they both slide towards sleep.

+

She leaves a ticket on the door for Rachel for opening night, since she insists, and she shifts behind the curtain, thinking back to West Side Story and how this feels so much more real and serious even though no one will even remember her when the show’s over. 

She almost stumbles when she sees the empty seat in the second row, the one she got for Rachel, and she forces herself not to look at it every time she has to run on to be in the background of whatever number, staring straight ahead and concentrating on the way she’s supposed to move.

When she finishes the last number and stomps into the dressing room a couple of the other dancers get out of her way, and she sinks into her seat and stares at herself in the mirror angrily, reaching up to pull the clips out of her hair and toss them on the dresser.

+

Rachel’s waiting for her by the stage door and she’s expecting some kind of excuse or apology, but what she doesn’t expect is Rachel beaming at her and wrapping her in a hug as she says, “You were so good, Santana!” into her ear.

“Where were you?” she says as she pulls away, taking a step back and folding her arms across her chest as she tries to stop herself from getting angry. “Your seat was empty!”

Rachel starts to smile, just at the corners of her mouth, and Santana feels her temper start to fray. “This isn’t funny,” she says, a little louder than before, only that makes Rachel smile wider.

“I sat in the back,” Rachel says, biting her bottom lip a little as she smiles. “So I didn’t distract you with all this.” She waves her hand in front of her own face and Santana just shakes her head, feeling all her anger drain away.

“That’s not funny,” she says again, only she’s starting to laugh now, and then Rachel leans in to kiss her and the laughter dies on her lips.

+

She’s not sure how she makes it through the two weeks, but she does somehow. She hates it and she loves it and she hates it all over again, working her ass off in the back where nobody can really see. She still gets that same rush when the audience clap though, enough that when the show’s over she takes the card the director offers her and listens when he tells her about this show that’s starting auditions in a month and he’s helping cast.

After the last show, some of the other dancers invite her out for drinks to celebrate, insisting it’s a tradition and that she has to go. Rachel’s waiting for her outside the theatre, wearing this outrageously short dress that just makes her legs look even more ridiculous than usual, and she kind of stares for a moment before she remembers to say something.

“Jesus,” she says, and watches Rachel roll her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says sarcastically, but she looks pleased, and Santana just grins back, doing her best to keep her eyes from sliding back down to her legs.

“I got invited along to some after party, you wanna go?” she says, shrugging out of her jacket and putting it around Rachel’s shoulders before she can protest. That dress really isn’t covering anything.

Rachel just nods, snuggling into the coat, and then her friends from the show are shouting after her as they manage to hail a cab to take them wherever it is they’re going. Rachel ends up practically in her lap as they bunch up in the back and the cab driver just eyes them for a moment before he pulls out into the traffic with a sigh. 

“Who’s your friend?” Michelle asks, smiling at Rachel with interest once the cab starts moving.

“This is my um— this is Rachel,” Santana says, trying not to look at her, but she’s pretty sure she feels Rachel sink a little against her, like she’s disappointed, and when she gets out the other side she ignores the hand Santana offers her.

+

They end up in this karaoke bar, which is not what she had in mind, but they don’t card them on the door and she even manages to get a drink because Michelle and Sophie know two of the guys working there and they slide her a beer, no questions asked, when she orders it. She didn’t see which way Rachel went, and she’s just peering around the room looking for her when she appears in front of her, still looking pissed off.

“Rachel,” she starts to say, but then Rachel’s taking a step forward and kissing her hard, her hand tangling into her hair as she leans into her, and tries to keep up.

Michelle just sort of blinks at them when they pull apart, but Rachel smiles sweetly and wraps a hand around Santana’s waist. “I’m Santana’s girlfriend,” she says, and Santana has never wished for the floor to swallow her up as much as she does right now, even if the way Rachel says girlfriend makes something twist in her belly.

“Cool,” Sophie says with a shrug, as Michelle nods next to her. “So did you guys wanna put our names down for karaoke or—?”

“No fucking way,” Santana says loudly, but Rachel’s eyes are glinting next to her and she already knows how this is gonna go.

+

She has another beer and somehow finds herself singing _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ with Michelle and Sophie, which really, there isn’t enough alcohol in the world, but then Rachel’s eyes are on her the whole time and the look on her face maybe makes it worth it, so she finds herself grinning and hamming it up towards the end, until Rachel’s laughing from in front of the stage like it’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

A little later, after they’ve spent half an hour pressed together in a booth, Santana’s hands settling on Rachel’s thighs and starting to disappear under the fabric, Rachel’s arms around Santana’s neck trying to pull her closer, Rachel sings _Glitter in the Air_ in this heartbreak voice, so everyone in the bar ends up watching her instead of whatever it is they’re supposed to be doing. It’s beautiful, and she sings it in this way that Santana thinks is maybe just for her, catching her eyes the whole time like she’s the only person there, until Santana’s skin is flushed and warm under her gaze and all she wants to do is take her home.

+

Rachel kisses her before they get inside, leaning into her while she fumbles for the key to their apartment and tries to get it open. They kiss their way to the couch, Rachel walking her backwards until she’s falling over the arm and onto the cushions, Rachel climbing after and straddling her hips, making her dress ride up even more.

They keep kissing, until Santana’s got a hand under Rachel’s dress and Santana’s shirt is on the floor, Rachel palming her breast through her bra. She’s very aware of the fact that they haven’t slept together since that first night, even though they’ve been sharing a bed for over a month, and she wants to say something, about how they don’t have to yet if Rachel doesn’t want to, or how maybe they should wait until it’s not three in the morning and they’re kissing sloppily on their couch, shedding clothing like their life depends on it.

Rachel’s hand slides towards the waistband of her skirt, and she lets out a little whimper and buries her face in Rachel’s shoulder as Rachel sucks at her pulse point. Her fingers tighten against Rachel’s back and the hand on her pauses, and then Rachel’s leaning back to look at her, concern dancing in her eyes.

“Santana? Are you okay?” Rachel says softly, and Santana almost can’t stand how soft her eyes look in the darkness.

She nods, and opens her mouth to say something but Rachel’s talking again, cutting her off. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

She doesn’t know how to tell her that that is the opposite of the problem, that she wants this so much it scares her, so she just leans up and kisses her again, soft and insistent, pulling her as close as she can. 

When Rachel’s hand starts to move again she clutches Rachel closer and squeezes her eyes shut, gasping as Rachel’s fingers slide lower. She can feel how embarrassingly wet she is, and Rachel sucks in a breath when she feels it too, and then they’re both moving, Santana arching up to kiss her as she gasps into her mouth and holds her as close as she can.

+

She feels free all of a sudden, with no endless rehearsals and shows to fill her days, and after spending the first day catching up on all the sleep she thinks she’s missed she drags herself out of bed to go get coffee and meet Rachel between her classes, carrying Rachel’s coffee carefully as she jostles through the people near the NYADA buildings and tries to stop her own drink from spilling.

She snags a seat on one of the benches to wait for her, watching the students come and go as she sips at her drink. It’s not long until she spots Rachel coming towards her, smiling as she meets her eyes and ignoring everything Tristan says next to her.

“Hey,” Rachel says when they get close enough, cutting Tristan off completely. He looks offended for a moment, before his eyes narrow as he watches them.

“Coffee delivery,” Santana says, standing up and handing it over, and Rachel grins and tucks herself into Santana’s side as they resume walking, her arm looped through hers tightly.

“I needed this,” Rachel says, with a sigh, and Santana’s not sure if she’s talking about the coffee, or.

“I’ll see you at home,” Santana says once they get across the street to Rachel’s next class. She glances over at Tristan before she leans in and kisses Rachel, her hand sliding down to settle in the small of her back as Rachel kisses her back, warm and soft against her.

“Um, do you guys have something to tell me,” Tristan asks, eyes wide as they pull away. 

Rachel has the grace to laugh but Santana just smirks as she starts to walk away. “Nope,” she says and watches Rachel laugh harder when Tristan turns to her for an explanation.

+

She calls Brittany a couple of times, at first just to tell her how the show went, and then just to hear her voice, because she misses her, even if it’s not in the way she first thought she would.

Brittany tells her about Sam working for Kurt’s dad at the garage and how he’s renting this place downtown because he felt like he had to move out of the Hudson-Hummel house since Kurt and Finn both left. “It’s right by the dance studio,” she says, “So it’s super convenient.” She’s teaching dance now as well as taking a couple classes at Rhodes State, and they get by, she says, and sounds happy about it.

“Maybe it’s not where we thought we’d be,” Brittany says, in what’s maybe the understatement of the year. “But we’re doing okay.”

Santana just glances up at Rachel, watching some PBS documentary about the history of musical theatre, and nudges her feet a little further into Rachel’s lap, until Rachel rolls her eyes and wraps her fingers around them, squeezing softly. 

“Yeah,” Santana says into the phone, “We’re doing okay.”

+

She auditions for another couple of shows but doesn’t get them, although she gets further and further along the audition process each time, which counts for something, even if that something is just a sign that she’s not as awful as she used to be.

She doesn’t mind so much, because when she gets home, Rachel’s waiting for her, and she just shakes her head like the casting directors don’t know what they’re missing before pulling her down on to the couch and cuddling close until she feels better.

Her money’s dwindling, and she knows she’s going to have to get a waitressing job or something soon, really living the dream, but then Rachel kisses her and she finds it hard to care about anything other than the warmth of Rachel’s hands on her cheeks, and the softness of her lips against hers.

+

Rachel’s birthday is at the beginning of November, and she’s not sure if Rachel knows she knows even though she probably won’t forget Finn’s ridiculously over the top rendition of happy birthday that he’d sung senior year for as long as she lives.

She wants to surprise her, and she spends one morning when Rachel’s at class going through some recipes on the computer, looking for something that’s vegan but still looks like food, because there’s some part of her that likes the idea of a romantic meal as much as she knows Rachel will. 

When Rachel comes home later she slams the laptop lid down before she can see and says, “Nothing,” as innocently as she can manage when Rachel asks her what she’s doing.

+

Rachel’s already gone when she wakes up in the morning, and she vaguely remembers the pressure of a kiss against her forehead a couple of hours ago and a murmured, “I’ll be back for dinner.”

She has an audition in the morning that she hasn’t told Rachel about, just because she didn’t want to ruin her birthday if she didn’t get it, but it goes well, and the director from her first show is sitting there with the casting director flashing her a quick smile when she reads from the sides they give her and thank her for coming in.

She’s on the way back across town with all the ingredients for dinner when they call her to tell her she got the part, and she’s sure it must be some kind of joke because it’s only a couple of hours later and didn’t they have more people to see?

“Chris,” she says, “Are you sure you’re talking to the right person?” and hears him laugh down the phone.

“Maybe I put in a word for you,” he says, “But seriously, Santana, you got the part. Rehearsals start next week, I’ll email you.”

She almost drops the grocery bags she’s carrying all over the floor once he hangs up and she starts shaking, because she has a _speaking part_ , even if she only has to speak about ten lines, and she grins hard as she clutches at the bags to keep them from falling.

+

She knows what time Rachel’s classes finish so she gets all the food ready to go, staring at the vegan cheese distrustfully before she shoves the ziti in the oven and goes to get dressed. She’s just drying her hair when her phone starts to ring, and she glances at Rachel’s face on the display before she answers.

“Do you want to come out for dinner with us?” Rachel says, shouting a little to be heard over the noise her friends are making in the background. “Tristan and Neil and Jamie are all coming, so there’s people you know.”

“No, Rach, you have to come home,” she says quickly, glancing over at the candles and plates she’d laid out on the coffee table, since they didn’t have a proper one.

“Why?” Rachel asks after a second, and Santana agonises for a moment over whether or not to tell her about dinner.

“You just, you said this morning you’d be home for dinner,” she says kind of lamely, and she’s willing to bet almost anything that Rachel’s rolling her eyes wherever she is.

“Just come to meet us,” she says, and Santana wonders why Rachel isn’t telling her that it’s her birthday, since she thinks she doesn’t know. “I don’t understand why this is a problem.”

“You need to come home,” Santana says and then there’s a pause while Rachel considers her words.

“I’ll be home later,” she says eventually, and then the line goes dead, and Santana tosses her phone down onto the drawers, wondering why she didn’t just tell her about the plan.

+

When Rachel gets home she’s drunk, swaying on the spot as she kicks her shoes off, and she doesn’t see Santana, still in the black dress she’d planned to wear, a dish of baked ziti sitting cold between the burnt down candles on the coffee table.

Santana just looks at her as Rachel’s mouth falls open, and she takes an unsteady step closer to get a better look.

“Happy birthday,” Santana says softly, and then Rachel presses a hand to her mouth and rocks on the spot, her eyes wide.

“I thought you didn’t know,” Rachel says, “And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do—”

“Whatever,” Santana says, and then she climbs to her feet and takes her half empty wine glass with her when she goes to collapse on the bed.

+

She lies there for a while before she hears footsteps pad over to the door and there’s a pause before Rachel speaks, “Santana, can you come out here please?”

She doesn’t want to, but her feet carry her out anyway, stopping when she registers Rachel sitting at one end of the coffee table on the floor, the ziti hot and on the plates, the glasses filled with wine, the candles relit.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says, when Santana stares at her, and she just shuffles on the spot, nodding a little. “This is lovely, Santana. Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” Santana says again, and then her feet carry her over to the other side of the coffee table and she sinks down, smiling at Rachel softly over her wine glass. 

+

It’s not until the next morning that she tells Rachel about the show, and she shrieks and hugs her so tightly she thinks she’s cutting off the circulation to her arms.

She comes home from class that night with a bottle of wine from the deli, and she bursts out laughing when Rachel drops it onto the coffee table and sinks into her on the couch, her hands still carrying the chill of outside when they find her skin.

“For the sake of tradition,” Rachel says, “But I am definitely not drinking it this time.”

Half an hour later, they’re on the roof sharing the bottle between them, and Rachel snuggles into her side against the cold as she mumbles, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Santana says easily, and then offers her the wine again.

+

She calls Brittany again to tell her about her part and she’s with Sam so she listens to both of them shout down the phone excitedly, congratulating her and telling her they know she’ll be awesome.

“The show starts in December,” she says, once they’ve calmed down and Brittany’s back on the line. “I thought maybe you could—maybe you could come see this one?”

“Really?” Brittany says, and Santana recognises the happiness in her voice. “We’d both need to check at work and stuff.”

“Yeah, I need to check with Rach,” Santana says before she thinks better of it and then wishes she hadn't. 

“‘Rach’?” Brittany says, with a weird little laugh. “I guess you guys are friends now, huh?”

“Um,” Santana says, because really what is she supposed to say to that? “Something like that.”

+

She waits for Rachel in the courtyard outside the NYADA buildings, her hands wrapped around the cups of coffee she’s holding, trying to stay warm. Rachel hurries out in the middle of a throng of people, picking her way over to her quickly, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck against the cold.

They’re halfway to the subway, Rachel’s arm wrapped around hers when she blurts out. “I invited Brittany to come and see my show. And I think maybe Sam is coming too.”

“Oh,” Rachel says, and comes to a stop, a sort of confused look on her face.

“We’ve been talking again,” Santana hurries on, almost tripping over the words as she turns to face her. “Just checking in. And she asked about coming to see the show and so I invited her.”

“You’ve been talking again?” Rachel asks, and Santana nods just once. 

“She’s been my best friend for years, Rach,” Santana says softly, “Before everything, she was my best friend.”

“I know,” Rachel says, reaching for her arm again as she tugs her towards the subway station. Santana lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. 

“You know when your show finishes the winter showcase starts at school,” Rachel says eventually, when they’re almost there. “Maybe they could come to see that too.”

Santana doesn’t know what to say, so she just turns and kisses her in the middle of the street, hearing a couple of people tut as they step around them, more because they’re in their way than anything else. “I’ll make sure they do,” she says, and Rachel smiles again, pulling her down the steps.

+

The rehearsals for her show start before Rachel’s rehearsals for the winter showcase. Rachel has the lead this year, but she’s so tired when she tells her that she just sort of rolls over on the couch to give Rachel room to get on and then flops an arm over her stomach to hold her close, nuzzling her face into her hair as they watch some cooking show on the food network that she hadn’t been paying attention to before, never mind now Rachel’s home.

“How was rehearsal?” Rachel asks, and Santana makes an effort to look up and find her eyes.

“Fine,” she says, “Hard. When do yours start?” Rachel’s fingers rub against her forehead and she can feel her eyes drifting closed.

“In a couple of weeks,” Rachel says softly, against her neck.

Santana yawns and feels her eyes flutter shut, “God, I think I just had a flashforward to our future.”

Rachel’s hand stills on her head as Santana realises what she said, feeling her words hang in the air. 

“It sounds nice,” Rachel says, voice barely above a whisper, and Santana just closes her eyes and buries her head in her hair, hoping Rachel can’t see her face.

+

Brittany calls to let her know they’re definitely coming to visit, and there’s this weird pause like they’re both trying to work out what to say.

“I need to tell you something,” they both say at the same time, and then, “What?” and Santana takes a breath as the silence stretches.

“Nothing,” Santana says at almost the same time Brittany does, and then all her courage deserts her and she says, “Um, I gotta go to rehearsal,” and hangs up quickly, staring at the phone in her hand like she’s never seen it before.

+

So maybe telling Rachel that Brittany doesn’t know about their relationship the week before they visit wasn’t the best idea. They’re eating dinner together for the first time in about a week, the only day they’ve both been free and not had something show-related to do, and Rachel just stares at her, her expression blank.

“Are you kidding?” she says, looking like she’s about to laugh, only nothing’s funny at all.

“It didn’t really come up,” Santana offers, and Rachel just scoffs, dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter.

“It didn’t come up,” she says, voice hitching a little higher on each word.

“I didn’t want to upset her,” Santana tries again, because it’s easier than admitting she has no clue how to tell the girl she used to date about the girl she’s currently dating, only that just makes Rachel madder.

“I’m _upsetting_?” she says, because of course that’s the part she heard, and then she’s on her feet and heading for their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Rachel,” Santana says as she tries to follow, but she’s wedged the door with something and she can’t get it to open. “Rach, come on.”

There’s a thud like Rachel’s thrown something against the door, then, “Go away,” she says, and Santana sighs out and stares at the wood, wishing she knew how to tell her that she never would.

+

She startles awake at 3am because she hears the bedroom door open, and she looks up from her place on the couch blearily, blinking until Rachel swims into view.

“I’m cold,” Rachel says, with this half shrug and a look that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, “Come to bed,” and then she’s disappearing back into the room and Santana’s scrambling after her.

“I’ll tell her,” Santana says once they’re settled, her arm under Rachel’s head as she presses herself into Rachel’s back.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Rachel murmurs, and Santana lays awake for a long time after Rachel goes back to sleep, wondering what she means.

+

The week passes in a blur, both of them spending more time at rehearsals than they do in the apartment, and then collapsing together on the couch or in the bed the few times they’re home at the same time, reaching for each other sleepily and taking a moment to just breathe and get used to the silence. 

There’s an empty seat in the third row opening night, and she knows that means Rachel’s in the back somewhere, and when she pushes through the stage door at the end of the night Rachel’s waiting for her, throwing her arms around her neck and kissing her deeply, her mouth warm against hers in the cold night air.

“You were wonderful, Santana,” she says, breaking the kiss to find her eyes and smile at her, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been happier than when Rachel leans in to kiss her again, huddling against her for warmth in the dull glow from the light over the door.

+

She goes to meet Brittany and Sam while Rachel’s at school, eyeing the buses that pull in to the station until she spots theirs and hurries over. Brittany looks just the way she always did when she comes down the steps, and she just stares, wondering what to do.

“Hi,” Brittany says, and Santana jolts at the sound of her voice.

“Hey,” she says, and then they’re both taking a step forward until they’re hugging, Brittany’s fingers digging into her back while she holds her just as tightly, watching Sam jump off the bus with two bags over his shoulder, nodding a little when he sees her.

“Hey Santana,” Sam says, and Brittany steps back self-consciously, looking between them for a second.

“Welcome to New York,” Santana says awkwardly, and then all three of them start to smile at once, and she thinks maybe she can do this after all.

+

They haven’t been at the apartment long when Rachel gets there, and Santana would roll her eyes at the deer-in-headlights look she gets when she sees Brittany and Sam, but.

Sam gets up to give her a hug, and Brittany just offers her a wave, and then they all shuffle awkwardly for a moment, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation again.

She tries to avoid catching Rachel’s eye, and Brittany and Sam keep looking at each other and away, and nobody seems to know what to say at all.

+

“You guys only have one bedroom,” Sam says a little later, when he comes back from the bathroom.

“Um,” Santana says, as Brittany turns to look at her, a confused expression on her face.

“That’s a futon,” Rachel says quickly, pointing over at where they’re sitting with a quick glance at Santana, and Santana has never wanted to kiss her more, even if it would give them away. 

+

Rachel takes Sam and Brittany out to eat when she has to leave for the theatre, and she thinks hard on the ride across town, wondering what would happen if she just told Brittany the truth. Saying it out loud makes it true and kills off the past in this way she doesn’t think she’s ready for, even if there’s nothing about her life now that she’d change, except for maybe talking to Brittany a little more often, and Sam too.

She sees them under the glow of the stage lights, smiling up at her from the the second row with an empty seat next to them that should be Rachel’s, except that Santana knows she’ll be at the back somewhere just like always.

Michelle finds her after with a phone pressed to her ears and says they’re going to the karaoke bar again since it’s the last show, and asks if she and Rachel want to come. “Sophie’ll be there once she gets off work,” she says, wiggling the phone like Sophie can actually see them, and Santana just nods, resigned to the fact that she’ll be making a fool of herself before the night is over as she wipes the make-up off her face.

+

“You were so awesome,” Brittany says, when she sees her after the show, and Santana grins before her eyes slide over to Rachel, who nods quickly and flashes her a thumbs up.

“Seriously cool,” Sam agrees, giving her his best grin, and it’s only then that she notices he’s got his arm around Brittany’s shoulders, holding her close against his side.

“Let’s get a cab,” Santana says, eyeing Sam’s hand rubbing against Brittany’s shoulder and suddenly feeling the cold herself. “It’s freezing out here, right?”

+

“Why did you tell them you were sitting at the back?” Santana leans in to ask under the cover of getting a drink at the bar, and Rachel just chuckles as she sips at her cocktail.

“I told them it was a good luck thing,” she says with a shrug, “A theatre superstition. Brittany wanted to sit at the back too after that.”

Santana feels a pang, because of course she would. “I was gonna tell them it was because you kept shouting out notes for all the actors,” Santana says after a moment, and Rachel laughs and slaps at her arm, almost making her spill her beer.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you stepped over half of James’ lines,” she says earnestly, “And don’t think we’re not going over the show when we get home because the only way to get better is to—”

“I love you,” Santana says through a laugh, before she realises she’s going to, and it dies in her throat at the look of wonder on Rachel’s face.

“You do?” she says quietly, her eyes soft as they fix on her face.

“Yeah,” Santana says incredulously, because if she doesn’t know by now—

“I love you too,” Rachel says, like she still can’t believe it, and Santana just grins at her.

“Yeah,” she says again, because she thinks she knew that deep down, and they stay there until Michelle finds finds them, grinning like idiots as they sip at their drinks.

+

They get drunk enough that when Sam suggests they all sing something together after watching Michelle and Sophie finish belting out _Love is a Battlefield_ , they climb up on stage and let Sam pick the song, the opening piano part to _Tiny Dancer_ crackling out of the speakers.

Sam wraps his arm around Brittany’s waist when he starts to sing, and she leans into him, grinning up at him as she joins in, singing into the mic he holds because there’s only two on the stage.

Rachel watches her watching them, and then reaches to tangle their fingers together where Brittany and Sam can’t see, holding the mic between them as she joins in on the second verse. She rolls her eyes a little when Rachel starts harmonising like she can’t help herself, giving her hand a squeeze as Rachel leans into her a little more.

When they get to the chorus, Brittany looks over at her, her eyes shining as she smiles and sings, reaching out between them to offer Santana her hand. She doesn’t think before she takes it, her fingers sliding into the gaps like they always used to as she grins back at her, singing the words as loud as she can.

+

Rachel’s almost falling asleep by the time they leave, and she props her up while they’re waiting for a cab, Sam and Brittany huddled together by her side. Sam helps her get Rachel up the stairs when they back to their apartment, and she hovers for a moment, glancing over at the bedroom door while Sam and Brittany take off their coats, Rachel asking what she’s waiting for when she realises they’ve stopped.

“Uh, I’m just gonna put Rachel in bed,” she says in the end, because fuck it, and she thinks she feels Rachel nod against her shoulder like she approves. They take a couple of unsteady steps towards the door, and okay maybe she’s not entirely sober either, and Rachel laughs into her hair when they right themselves and Santana leads her towards the door.

“I have to get up so early for class tomorrow,” Rachel complains once she’s on her back on the bed, and Santana just rolls her eyes at her as she tugs her skirt down her legs. 

“Lightweight,” she says fondly, when Rachel protests as she pulls her up so she can pull her jumper over her head. 

“I’m gonna go give them sheets and stuff, I’ll be back in a minute,” Santana says as Rachel scrambles under the covers and nods, her eyes already closing.

She’s pretty sure she hears her snore before she even leaves the room.

Sam’s already got the futon set up when she gets back, and he’s tugging his pants down his legs as Brittany lies back on it, her arm stretched out towards Sam’s back as she stares up at the ceiling. Santana drops the sheets next to her and she jumps, pulling her hand back, and Sam glances over his shoulder at them warily, like he expects something to happen.

“Do you need anything else?” Santana asks, just to be polite, but she’s yawning herself and when they both shake their heads she just nods and turns back towards the bed and Rachel, shutting the door and climbing in after her girlfriend after she steps out of the dress she’s wearing and tosses it on the floor.

+

She wakes with a jolt in the morning, Rachel stretched out next to her, still asleep, and she looks at the door quickly, glad that it’s shut. She reaches for her phone on the table just to see what time it is, and then Rachel’s alarm goes off on the other side of the room and she guesses that answers that question.

Rachel yawns as she hits it, and reaches up above her head to stretch her arms, rolling her shoulders as best she can while she’s lying down. “Hi,” she says, turning her head to see Santana watching her. 

“Coffee,” Santana grunts in response, and rolls out of bed, pulling some pajamas she never wears out of her drawer and stepping into them.

“Please,” Rachel says, still not moving, and Santana reaches for the door handle.

She picks her way across the room as quietly as she can, glancing at the futon just to see if Sam and Brittany are still asleep. She blinks a little at what she sees, rubbing her hand against her eyes as she comes to a stop. 

Sam’s lying on his back wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, and Brittany’s half next to him and half on top of him wearing what she recognises as one of his gym shirts from McKinley, her head nestled into his shoulder and her leg thrown over Sam’s hips under the covers. Sam has his arm around her, his hand settled on her hip, and she suddenly gets it, because she remembers the way they’ve been looking at each other this whole time, and the way Sam had his arm around her the night before and the way he carried both their bags off the bus.

She feels like she’s just been punched.

“What’s wrong,” Rachel says as she stumbles into her, and then she feels her go stiff against her as she says, “Oh,” in this way that cuts right through Santana.

The noise wakes Brittany and she blinks up at them for a minute before realisation hits her and then she sits up, trying to scramble away from Sam, only that wakes him up too and his first instinct is to try reach for her and check that she’s okay, which of course it is, and she feels this flash of irritation go through her, just for a second.

“Um,” Brittany says, and Santana just stares, not knowing what to do. “We—”

“You’re together,” Santana says, in a voice that sounds weirdly blank to her own ears.

Brittany nods just once, but that’s all it takes and then she’s trying to reach to punch Sam as Rachel grabs her and tries to hold her back.

“Dude, what the hell,” Sam yells as he falls off the futon trying to avoid her, and Rachel grabs her around the waist then so she can’t move anymore without hurting her, and even as numb as she feels right now she doesn’t want that.

“Santana!” Brittany says, but it’s no use because her mind is suddenly going crazy, imagining all these things that might have happened between them while she wasn’t there.

“You were supposed to be my friend, Sam! And you were putting the moves on my girl the whole time I was away at Louisville,” she says, and she doesn’t realise how ridiculous it is until it’s out of her mouth and Rachel and Brittany are both looking at her, and she feels all the anger drain out of her at the looks on their faces.

“‘Your girl’,” they both say, and then they look at each other oddly, before Sam pushes himself up onto his knees and starts to speak again.

“Nothing happened until you’d broken up and you were in New York,” he says quickly, pulling his t-shirt from the night before over his head. “You think either of us would do that to you? You’re fucking crazy,” he says, and it’s one of the few times she’s actually heard him swear.

Rachel’s let her go now, and when she turns to look at her she hates the expression she sees on her face. “Your girl,” she says again, her voice cracking a little, and then Brittany’s eyes are flicking between them like she’s working it out. 

The moment stretches, and Santana thinks she feels the exact second when it breaks, when Brittany starts to speak and Rachel takes a step away from her, hugging herself as she looks down at the ground.

“You’re seriously yelling at me about Sam,” Brittany says, “When you and Rachel—” She shakes her head and looks away. “God, Santana,” she says, and that hurts more than if she’d yelled.

“Rach,” she says grabbing out for her hands quickly. “No, Rachel, look at me. It’s you, okay? It’s just you, I promise, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

Rachel nods, but she still looks hurt and she pulls her hands away and squeezes them together instead. “I’m going to get ready for class,” she says, and then she’s disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door.

“Fuck,” Santana mumbles, and when she looks back at Brittany, she just shrugs and looks away, sliding over to the edge of the makeshift bed to help Sam up.

“You’re not being fair, Santana,” Brittany says softly, and she knows she isn’t but she doesn’t know how to deal with this, so she just turns back to the bedroom and doesn’t say anything at all.

+

Rachel’s lying on the bed when she opens the door, not making any attempt to get dressed, and she glances up at her when she comes in and then she rolls over and turns to face the other wall instead. She sits down in the space behind her, and reaches out to touch her hair softly, the same way she had that morning they’d first woken up together.

“I wasn’t lying last night,” Santana says eventually, because she doesn’t know what else to, and then sighs when the silence stretches. “I told you I wasn’t good at this, Rach. I don’t think you knew just how bad I actually am.” She huffs out a laugh, “I guess you do now. I didn’t lie though. I want you to know that.” She stands up and grabs her coat from where she threw it in the wardrobe last night and pulls it on over her pajamas. 

“I’m gonna go sit on the roof for a while,” she says, pausing by the door when Rachel doesn’t say anything,

“Be careful, the fire escape might be icy,” she rolls over to look at her, wiping her hand against her eyes. “I wasn’t lying last night either,” she adds after a moment, and then Santana takes a step back towards the bed and leans down to kiss her, promising everything she can’t say right now as Rachel’s hands coming up to grip her cheeks and hold her there for a moment.

“I know you weren’t,” Santana says when they finally pull apart, and watches some of the sadness disappear from Rachel’s face. 

+

Sam and Brittany are both dressed when she goes back out into the apartment, and she ignores them calling after her as she goes to slide the window up and scramble outside, testing each step she takes carefully and climbs higher.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting up there with her back against the wall when she hears the sounds of someone scrambling up next to her, and she isn’t surprised when she leans over to look and sees Brittany nearly at the top, wearing Sam’s coat and a bobble hat to keep warm.

“Careful,” Santana says as she gets closer, and Brittany just shoots her this look that makes her want to laugh, because Brittany was always the best at climbing trees when they were little, so this is really no problem at all.

Brittany sits down next to her, and both of them are silent for a minute before she says, “So Rachel, huh?” the same way she used to ask her about boys in middle school, and Santana really wants to laugh, but.

“When did you and Sam—?” she says instead of answering, because Brittany can tease her about Rachel later but this is something she needs to know, and she rubs her hands together as she waits for the answer, trying to rub warmth back into them.

“Last summer,” Brittany says, a smile dancing at the corner of her mouth. “Artie had this Fourth of July party and he kissed me under the fireworks.”

“Sounds like Sam,” Santana snorts, and then they’re both laughing and leaning against each other, all the weirdness evaporating in an instant.

+

“Were you and Rachel together when you came to Nationals?” Brittany asks once they’ve both calmed down, and she shakes her head no.

“September. I was sitting here, and she was sitting where you are now, and then she kissed me,” Santana says, like that covers it all, but it must be enough because Brittany smirks a little.

“Why does _her_ having to kiss _you_ make so much she sense?” she says, and then Santana laughs and shoves her while she grins back, sticking her tongue out as she rocks on the spot.

“You were always clueless, honey,” Brittany says softly, and Santana would protest, but.

+

“You know if Sam hurts you I’ll break his balls,” Santana says a little later, once the silence has gone on long enough.

Brittany nods. “I don’t think he will though,” she says, and then it’s Santana’s turn to nod.

“He was always a good guy, Britt,” Santana says seriously, and Brittany’s mouth starts to twitch into a smile, ruining the moment.

“It’s a shame I can’t say the same for Rachel,” she says and then she’s laughing again at the offended look on Santana’s face.

+

They sit in silence, and watch their breath steam in the air. 

She doesn't look at Brittany, but after a moment Brittany's arm slides around her, warm and strong the way it always was. It's too much and not enough all at once, and Santana releases a shaky breath she didn't know she was holding and watches the cold betray her.

They stay still for a moment longer and then Brittany shifts, leaning down to rest her head against Santana's shoulder, her hair spilling out of her hat so that Santana can feel it against her face as she nuzzles closer.

They stay like that until the first flakes start to fall, floating in the air.

"Look," Brittany says, and turns her palm up as a single snowflake flutters down.

"It's snowing," Santana says, because she doesn't know what else to, shifting her feet to bring them back to life. "We should go back inside."

"Wait," Brittany says, hooking her other hand around Santana's arm. Santana feels it, cold through her jacket. "Just a little longer."

It's not really a question but Santana nods her head against Brittany's anyway.

"Yeah," she says as the snow gets thicker in the air. "Just a little longer."


End file.
